


Ace in the Hole

by Ferrenbach



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Experimental Drugs, Gen, Language, Phase Five (Gorillaz), Possession, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrenbach/pseuds/Ferrenbach
Summary: 2-D's been acting very strangely throughout the recording of their latest album and, while Russel and Noodle suspect something is up, they have no idea what to do about it. Fortunately, they have an Ace up their sleeve.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was started shortly after the Humility video was released and may rely on predictions and information that are no longer accurate. It deals as well with the post-video speculation that 2-D is possibly possessed, a state that, while unlikely in the context of the canon, is immensely entertaining, narratively speaking. This story splits the difference. Rated T for language, not the title.

They all thought it was a very positive change at first.

Murdoc had been in and out of jail so many times, that one more stint concerned no one. No one except Murdoc, who maintained his innocence long past the point where he would have normally given in and confessed simply to revel in the glee of his own cleverness.

No, this time Murdoc clung solidly to his innocence. Even so, no one really paid him much mind. He toyed with so many criminal activities that, if he was not guilty of the one for which he had been locked up, then he was certainly guilty of another for which he had gotten away scot-free. Besides, the rest of the band had grievances that were not fully resolved and letting him stew in a jail cell for a while appealed to them. They would let him out eventually.

Probably.

In the meantime, he could sit and think of what he had done while they ignored his pleas and blocked the few resources he might have at his disposal. Russel had done his research and the institution in which Murdoc was incarcerated was considered both reasonable and trustworthy, at least insofar as such institutions could be so considered. Discrete inquiries confirmed suspicions that Murdoc was playing up the direness of his situation, so the band was content to sit back and watch his antics from afar, at least for the moment, and for many moments thereafter.

Only 2-D had been sceptical at first and uncomfortable with the ruse. This had come as no surprise to either Russel or Noodle despite the fact that, of the three of them, 2-D had the most reason to take pleasure in Murdoc’s extended vacation. He was simply too soft-hearted to think of someone locked up in _jail_ , of all places, especially if they might be _innocent_ , both a possibility and an irrelevancy in this particular case.

Nevertheless, Noodle humoured him and listened very patiently to his concerns, reassuring him that the prison Murdoc was in was very clean and modern and unlikely to cause him any problems he did not go looking for himself, in which case it was on his head, was it not? If he wanted to pick fights, he would be in a fight, and that was that. She laid out the argument that Murdoc was no doubt guilty of _something_ and, if he were really being framed by a big-time mob boss, then he was safer in prison while the matter was sorted rather than walking around free where henchmen might attack or even kill him.

2-D finally conceded and, over the next few days, slowly warmed to the idea. He was able to relax and open up a little about Point Nemo and all the things that had happened on the trash pile Murdoc had named Plastic Beach. He did not share everything, of course, but many things could be guessed or inferred and the rest was respected as something private, something personal. The sharing of memories also brought 2-D fully on board with the plan to let Murdoc stew and consider all the things he had done – and 2-D often stated so himself with a twisted, bitter smile – so that was all right.

The band had toyed with some music before and during the recording of Humanz that had never made it onto the album. They had opted for more guest artists, giving them a platform to question the world’s attitudes and society’s future, putting aside any music that felt too frivolous for the message. This had left a disagreeable taste in the mouths of many, but they were not concerned. 2-D himself could have told them that bitter pills were the hardest to swallow.

Of course, putting aside fun and frivolous material meant a wealth of music to revisit in between stops on the Humanz tour, media campaigns, and other public appearances. They had tossed around ideas about putting another album together, a plan that stalled indefinitely upon Murdoc’s incarceration, but which 2-D tentatively brought up again when he began to feel comfortable with the bassist’s absence. He had made an album before, he said, one he had recorded in the quiet times between shows when Murdoc had forced him out on tour for the Plastic Beach album. All they needed was a bassist to fill out the missing bits – some snippets of which had already been recorded by Murdoc – and help record a few new songs.

Noodle reminded them that they already knew someone – a friend of Murdoc’s, no less, so he could hardly complain – whom they had met on their first American tour. She had kept in touch with him on and off, calling him skeezy, but charming when he wanted to be. He would no doubt be a bit of a handful, but far less so than Murdoc.

She needed no more convincing. They all knew the person in question and got along with him well enough, even if Russel thought him sometimes insufferable. As Russel thought most people sometimes insufferable, this was not a black mark on the man’s character and Noodle fired off a text, receiving the eventual response that their selection was on board, but could not come out immediately, although he would certainly join them at his earliest convenience.

This left them several weeks with which to play, jam, discuss, sample, and mix, a job mostly handled by 2-D. Sometimes he worked with his bandmates at his side, listening and adjusting as they offered him their opinions. Sometimes he worked with Noodle alone while she tweaked the music, teased him in proper little sister fashion, and complimented his deft hand with soft wonder. Sometimes he worked with Russel, who alternated between discussing the historical and technical aspects of a piece and ranting about the state of the world and those who were out to control, oppress, or eliminate anyone who stood in their way.

Sometimes 2-D worked by himself, absorbing the purest and most distilled form of the music through his headphones, nodding along to it, happy and confident, bolstered by Noodle’s praise and determined to mix an album that would positively impact the world and free Russel from some of his fears.

He worked hard, he worked well, and without Murdoc’s constant belittling, he took pleasure in his work and its results.

It was a very positive change.

At first.


	2. Noodle

“Tooooochi… come play with me!”

When shouting from the hallway did nothing, Noodle sighed and continued her trek.

She had called him from the game room, she had called him from the front room, she had called him from the corridor, and from the bathroom door. She had called from here and called from there and called, in fact, from everywhere and was, quite frankly, starting to feel as though she were living in a Dr. Seuss book. What kind of times were these when she could not scream from the other end of the building and expect an immediate response?

The problem became apparent when she entered the makeshift studio and saw 2-D at the sound board, headphones on and eyes closed, nodding along to a beat she could not hear. On a table at his side sat a keyboard – a rather complex looking device wired into the sound board – upon which he played the occasional silent chord before appearing to wind back whatever he was listening to and trying again. He looked content and at ease and Noodle was tempted to leave him to it, but he had been working since early that morning and she felt he could use a break.

She waved wildly at him when his eyes cracked open a moment. She was certain he saw her, but he was so absorbed in his task that it took him a while to completely change his focus and grin sunnily at her.

“Heya, pun’kin,” he said, slightly louder than necessary, his sense of sound compromised by the headphones.

She motioned that he should remove them. He seemed reluctant to do so, but eventually complied, tossing them onto the flat space above the mixer.

“Come play video games with me,” she said.

“I can’t right now,” 2-D told her. “I’m workin’…”

“You’ve been working all day. You’ll drive yourself crazy,” Noodle insisted, sidling around the back of the chair to slip her arms around him and rest her chin on the top of his head. “You can work and have a good time, too, you know. Russel and I aren’t wild perfectionists like Murdoc. Hell, I don’t even think Murdoc’s as wild a perfectionist as he seems to be. I think he does it just to get on your case.”

She could almost feel 2-D wilting beneath her, his own insecurities making it impossible for him to completely dismiss the thought that Murdoc’s continual re-recordings were not due to his ineptitude.

“Besides,” she added to take 2-D’s mind away from it, “Ace isn’t even here yet. We can play around with things, but we won’t get anything significant done until he arrives. You might as well come and play with me.”

2-D uttered a little laugh.

“I’m not so good at those things anymore,” he demurred. “You’ll kick my arse easily.”

“Maybe you deserve to have your arse kicked once in a while.”

“An’ then you’ll laugh at me.”

Noodle opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again. She would, she knew, although it would only be a tease. 2-D knew that. She knew 2-D knew that. She also knew that 2-D was laughed at frequently, not always in a teasing manner, and that his tolerance might be low today. It could be one of the reasons he felt more comfortable holed up alone in the studio.

“Come and play with me,” she wheedled, “and I promise, if I win, I won’t laugh at you. On one condition,” she added before 2-D could speak. “I get to shit talk you on in-game voice chat.”

“Noodle…”

“I’ll shit talk you nicely. ‘Ha ha, niichan! I kicked your arse! That’s what you get for being old! I love you! Kisses!’”

“Noodle…”

“Or I can shit talk you the way you’d shit talk me,” she offered, adopting an exaggerated accent. “‘Blimey, luv! That was close! I thought you’d kick my arse for sure! You dun so good, I’ll bet you get me next time…’”

2-D sighed.

“Or we can just play a team game,” Noodle said. “It’s what I was going to ask you to do anyway. Then we’ll be on the same side and can kick everyone else’s arse. Plus, I got chocolate tarts,” she added when he neared the verge of being swayed. “We don’t even have to save any for Russel. He likes salty things better, so I got him some pub mix.”

“A’right, I’ll play with you,” 2-D agreed. “Just let me clean up a bit, pun’kin. Dun wanna leave all the equipment on.”

“I will give you fifteen minutes to turn off the equipment, use the loo, and get your gaming pants on, if you want,” Noodle told him, “but then I’m coming to get you. Even in the loo.”

She gave him a peck on the top of his head and rushed off to get the tarts and set up the console.

When she had gone, 2-D picked up the headphones and held one side up to his ear. He listened, head cocked, and smiled at what he heard. Then he turned off all the devices, unplugged what needed to be unplugged, and joined Noodle in the game room.


	3. Russel

“Hey, D.”

2-D was concentrating on his phone and Russel wondered if he would have to wave at him to get his attention, but then 2-D looked up, smiled broadly at him, and plucked out his ear buds.

“Hi, Russ,” he said. He sounded almost shy. Usually anxious and on edge, 2-D often stammered and slurred his words, preferring not to speak if he thought his mouth might get him in trouble. In Murdoc’s absence, he had unwound somewhat, spoke more, and stammered less, but approached each conversation as though he were addressing a stranger for the first time, uncertain of what they would think of him, and eager to make a good first impression.

Russel tried to get him to open up as much as possible. He used to think 2-D was an idiot with a decent voice directed largely by Murdoc and only time had allowed him to realize that the kid had talent of his own – often exploited by Murdoc – and smarts of a sort. It was not the kind of intelligence Russel was used to, it was not even the kind of cunning that allowed Murdoc to cause far more trouble than he would ever pay back to society, but it was a sort of intuitive knowledge that held all the bits of learned things together. 2-D typically needed some time to fully absorb new information, but once he had it, it was there forever, and passed through strange layers of perception that 2-D often turned into sound and lyrics.

2-D might have trouble ordering from a menu with any coherency, but he produced some damned fine lyrics.

“What’cha up to, D?” Russel said, rummaging in the refrigerator for a cold beer. He grabbed one for 2-D while he was at it, receiving a little noise of gratitude in reply.

“I’m just listening,” 2-D told him. “Some new stuff. Trying to shape the new album, kinda. Humanz was so… um… heavy, I guess. A lot of weight in it. An’ important, I think, but the stuff we cut out is nice an’ light and I think we should do more’a that. I think people need somethin’ brighter right now. It dun have to be all frilly…”

“Frivolous?” Russel corrected. “Like it doesn’t matter?”

“Frivolous,” 2-D repeated with none of his usual self-deprecation. “It can be serious an’ have meaning, but the whole sound of it should be lighter, I think. Especially if we release it before summer. If i’s light, more people will listen to it an’ that means more people will hear the lyrics an’ if they just enjoy the music first, i’s fine. The lyrics will all soak in later.”

It was a very 2-D thing to say, given how his brain operated, but it was no less true for the rest of the world. What sunk in slowly stayed for the long haul.

“You might be on to something there,” Russel admitted.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things you say. About the world bein’ a mess,” 2-D said, playing with his bottle. He blew across the top, producing a tone, and cocked his head at it, thinking. “Music is a good way to tell people that, I think. Not about it bein’ a mess. I think they know an’ we’ve dun music about it before, but… Well… We all get lost in these _things_ —“ He looked at his phone, twisting it this way and that, examining it on all sides. “—an’ they’re not _bad_ things exactly, but we hide in ‘em, you know? Hide from all the mess. I think it would be good to tell people to trust themselves. They know wha’s right an’ wha’s wrong and how to be better, but i’s hard and i’s scary. If we make it not so scary, more people might be able to make the world a better place.”

Russel could not recall hearing 2-D string so many words together at a single time, much less words that made sense. 2-D’s thoughts still seemed nebulous, unformed, but there was time yet, and it was a good place to start. There was so much shit in the world that Russel sometimes wondered if another major plague or flood of biblical proportions would not be to the benefit of all, although, given the state of things, only those with unchecked wealth were apt to survive and the world would be in the same place it had always been. The system needed to change and, if it would not change, then the people within the system needed to force change upon it. The problem was unity. Fine sentiments could only go so far. It was easy to look at a screen, read extensive coverage and personal accounts about a situation, produce some angry rhetoric, and feel an impact was made.

Easy… and useless.

Music, on the other hand… Music was something one carried around. Not only on devices for listening, but in the head, in the heart. Music was an anthem, a slogan, a rallying cry…

“What’re you thinkin’ about, Russ?”

2-D looked at him with genuine curiosity, even concern.

“I was thinking that the right music could take over the world,” Russel answered honestly.

“The world is awful big,” 2-D replied. “I think we should start with Manhattan. Then we could take Berlin.”

It took Russel a moment to be sure 2-D was really joking, and then he laughed.

2-D grinned.

“I’ve been having loads’a thoughts,” he said. “All sorts’a little ones, like squirmy caterpillars, an’ I feel like I see a lot more than I did. A lot of the problems you talk about an’ a lot of the ways people can make a difference if they take time to look inside at their own thoughts. I think, maybe, we should sing about that. Only maybe without talking about caterpillars or squirming. I dun think they… uh… emote—“

“Evoke?”

“—evoke the right kind of feelings.”

“D, if you refer to anything else in your brain as ‘squirmy’, I’m taking you to a doctor,” Russel said. “And I’m only half-joking about that. It’s a really creepy description, man.”

“Murdoc always said I look like a zombie,” 2-D told him. “Could be maggots. You dun know.”

“Really, D? You’re gonna hit me with that here? I gotta eat at this table.”

“Hey. What’re you guys up to?”

Russel looked up to greet Ace by raising his bottle in acknowledgement. 2-D did the same with a sunny, “‘Ello!”

“Grab yourself something and join us,” Russel said.

Ace had arrived a few days ago was gradually being assimilated into the group. Russel would not say he was especially fond of the man, but they got along all right. Ace had some talent. Nothing compared to Murdoc’s – without which none of them would tolerate Murdoc’s presence for very long – but it was talent. There was also a greasy sort of arrogance about him, the kind that pushed him to displays of schoolyard dominance that Russel could do without. On the whole, he supposed, he was rather indifferent to their new bandmate. If Ace was around, fine, but Russel did not miss him when he was not.

Russel also had a vague suspicion that Ace had conducted more than a few back alley deals in his time. It was not a major concern, considering Murdoc’s frequent antics, but it was something to bear in mind.

Ace settled at the table, arranging himself with a certain bad boy panache, tilting back the chair somewhat, secure in his own abilities to anchor himself to the table. It was the kind of habit in which Murdoc also indulged, but Ace went about it as a matter of course whereas Murdoc would make a production of settling himself in. He wanted to be certain that everyone at the table was aware of his balancing prowess.

“What’re we gabbin’ about, mates?” Ace said awkwardly, prompting a snort of laughter from 2-D.

“Fuck, man, stick to your own lingo,” Russel said, grinning. “You sound like a tool.”

Ace grinned hugely and saluted them with his bottle and both middle fingers. No harm, no foul. It was the kind of atmosphere Russel could get behind.

“Ehh… Just yankin’ your chains,” Ace said. “But really… What’re you up to?”

“Talkin’ music,” Russel told him. “I’m guessing Noodle’s caught you up?”

“Yeah. She told me your plans, sent me some tracks, some sheet music. Whatever she had.”

“Probably not as much of that as you’d like,” Russel said. “Sorry. We put some of it together jamming between sessions on the last album. We’re still shaping it up. D’s probably written up some more stuff for ya since then. You might want to check it out. We’re only just finishing up with tours and promo for the last album, so things’ll be movin’ quick once we get the ball rolling.”

“No problem. If you wanna pass on what ya got, I’ll have a look at it today.” Ace said. “Not that I’m a keener, y’get me? This is just a great opportunity. I got no plans to fuck it up.”

“That puts you one up on Murdoc,” Russel said. 2-D laughed, hiding it in another swig of beer.

“Hey, I met the guy. We’ve hung out,” Ace reminded them. “Any idea how long he’ll be in the clink?”

“No clue,” Russel told him.

“I’ve texted the guy, but connection’s spotty, as you might imagine,” Ace said. “That or he’s pissed and won’t talk to me. Could go either way, you know?”

Russel nodded. So did 2-D. They knew.

“Which is too bad, really, ‘cause he seemed okay with my takin’ the job until I told him not to hurry back.”

Russel laughed appreciatively.

“That’d do it for sure,” he said. “I’d’ve loved to have seen the look on his face.”

“He’s a good guy to know,” Ace repeated slyly, “but that don’t mean he’s a good guy. He’s screwed me over more than once. If he’s innocent, then I guess he’ll eventually have to come out, but in the meantime, he can cool his heels. His gang is my gang… and I can take care of my gang.”

It was entirely possible that Ace overbalanced, Russel thought. He was tilted back in a precarious position, after all. A shift in weight was all it would have taken to tumble him to the floor. It was entirely possible that Ace overbalanced and entirely possible that he had done so at the exact moment that he did, but Russel suspected otherwise.

Russel suspected that a discrete nudge from 2-D had helped the matter along.

“Are you a’right?” 2-D said with utmost solicitude and concern, ducking down to look under the table.

“Fuck, man. Haven’t done that in a dog’s age,” Ace replied as Russel stood to help him up. “My balance is pretty good, y’know?”

“Mine’s shite. A’s why I dun do that,” 2-D said pointedly. “You sure you’re a’right?”

“Fine,” Ace replied warily, accepting Russel’s help and brushing himself off. “‘Fuhgedaboudit’, as they say. It’s the kinda thing that makes you feel your age though, you know?”

“I hear ya,” Russel replied. “We actually had a physical therapist on staff for our last tour. None of us are getting any younger. Except Noodle, she’s immortal. Stopped aging as soon as her legs were long enough to reach the gas pedal.”

“Although,” 2-D said, enunciating the word slowly as he picked at the label on his bottle,” if i’s _age_ we’re talkin’, I’m older’n you an’ been here longer too. So i’s more ‘propriate to say that i’s _my_ gang, I think.”

“D’s got a point,” Russel said, although it surprised him that 2-D would feel the need to underline this fact so deliberately. Chalking it up to a very valid fear of being caught under someone else’s thumb, Russel added, “I mean, I’ve got a couple of years on him, but he was here first, technically speaking, and is the only one of us that’s worked on every album so far. Well, except Murdoc,” he allowed, “although this might be his first.”

“No, he’s got some bits of stuff recorded that was cut from Humanz,” 2-D said, “but he’s got nothin’ on The Fall. That one’s all synth, really. He listened in and gave opinions. Sometimes nice ones, actually, but it weren’t really his album at all. I dun think he thought I would put it out professionally, but I did. He dun like to count it as Gorillaz. A’s fair, I guess. It din’t have Russ or Noodle either.”

“So you were a solo artist,” Russel pointed out. “That’s why I tell you not to cheat yourself. You’ve done a lot.”

“I have,” 2-D agreed, somewhat distracted. He had peeled most of the label off his beer and seemed determined to get the rest. “If a gang’s got instruments, then i’s a band, yeah?”

“Could be,” Russel said, opting to indulge him. “Depends on if they can play.”

2-D nodded wisely.

“So Gorillaz and gorillas both come in bands, an’ if i’s my _gang_ , then i’s my _band_.”

“I prefer to think of us as a co-operative collective,” Russel told him gently, “but you’re in charge of this particular project.”

“A’s fair,” 2-D said, picking away the last scrap of label, leaving his bottle disconcertingly blank.

“For this round,” Russel stressed, “and a good leader listens to the opinions of others.”

“‘Course,” 2-D said as though Russel were unreasonable for thinking it could be otherwise. “You an’ Noodle are very smart and have lots of ideas, but I think… I think I have an idea of where we ought to go. You know that one we worked on? The one that’s almost done? I think Ace should hear it. Bump up the back a bit. It would make a good single. Maybe the first single.”

“You might be on to something there,” Russel agreed. “Although it still needs something. Might be a good one to have a guest artist on, especially if it’s the first song out there.”

2-D looked momentary disgusted, but then seemed to consider the idea.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “They could be in the video, too. Or have a diff’rent cameo. So i’s not strange if other tracks dun have any guests. Make it kinda transitional.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Russel agreed. “Listen, I know some people who might be good additions. Why don’t I make a list for you and we can go over it together. I’ll pull out some tracks in case some of the names are unfamiliar and you can see if you think they’ll fit.”

“Noodle an’ Ace should listen too,” 2-D said, “especially if the people on your list do guitars. I can play, but Noodle’s better an’ I dun do bass. Then, when we pick someone, I can contact ‘em an’ ask.”

“We usually have people for that, D.”

“I’s a personal touch, since we dun have a lot of guests this time.”

“Fair enough,” Russel said. “And very responsible of you.”

“I have to be,” 2-D told him. “I’m in charge. Issat a’right with you, Ace?”

Ace shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Then we’re all fine,” 2-D said. “I got some stuff I wanna check, so I’m gonna go back to work.”

He stood up, put his pile of label peelings into the trash, put his bottle aside for recycling, and left the room.

“There’s somethin’ wrong wit’cher boy,” Ace said.

“D? He’s all right,” Russel said. “Just thinks a bit different. Spent a lot of time at Murdoc’s mercy.”

“Yeah,” Ace mused. “I kinda remember that…”

“Well, Noodle an I are trying to encourage him to put himself forward a bit more,” Russel explained. “That’s gonna come off as awkward no matter how you look at it. He’s just not use to it. It’ll probably be easier all around if you don’t sound like you’re trying to undermine his seniority, ya dig? It’s just about the only thing we have to build on.”

“Yeah,” Ace said, stroking his chin in thought. “Yeah, I get’cha. Just so you know, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Russel had met members of Ace’s gang, who were still in contact, if not a formal group any longer. From what he had heard, Russel highly suspected that Ace was not accustomed to others holding positions of authority over him, but that was not an issue he cared to address at present.

“Then we’re cool,” he said instead and took another swig of beer.


	4. Ace

“There’s somethin’ wrong wit’cher boy.”

Noodle looked up at him, amused.

“I don’t have children, Ace. You need to be more specific.”

“2-D.”

“2-D? And here I thought you were going to say something original,” Noodle sighed. “Look… 2-D just thinks a little differently, all right?”

“I get that,” Ace said.

“He thinks a little differently and is at least twenty percent high, ninety percent of the time.”

“Been there,” Ace said.

“And he’s kind of tactile. Touchy-feely, you know? He sometimes forgets that not everyone’s the same way and tries to hug them, but all you have to do is remind him and he stops.”

“Hugging has not been an issue,” Ace said.

“And he brings things back from the dead—“

“He what now?” Ace said.

“ _Appliances_ ,” Noodle stressed. “Appliances, plants, old devices and furniture… stuff you’d think belonged in a compost or scrap heap. He fixes them up and they work, grow, are useful again. Russel calls it bringing them back from the dead. He thinks it’s creepy. But not cars. 2-D’s not that kind of mechanic.”

“That’s good to know,” Ace said.

“Russel does cars.”

“None of this is what I am talking about,” Ace said very deliberately and told her about his conversation in the kitchen with 2-D and Russel. He glossed over any excessive arrogance on his part, but was otherwise truthful. “There was this look to him, like something had come over him, and then I was ass over teakettle.”

“Are you saying he’s psychic?”

“What?”

“That he knocked you over with his evil brain powers?”

“No,” Ace said. “I’d know brain powers if I saw ‘em. I’m from fucking Townsville. I’m saying he kicked my fucking chair and dumped my ass.”

Noodle took a deep breath and opened her mouth. For a moment, Ace thought she would ask him why he thought 2-D would ever do such a thing, but then she sighed and closed it again, looking somewhat worried.

“He probably did,” she admitted, “and it wasn’t nice that he did it and I’ll tell him so when I get a chance to talk to him without, you know, making it look like you sent me. Just maybe suggest that you were telling me the story of how you were showing off and failed and I guessed at it because I know him. He’s… he can be a bit petty.”

She sighed again and ran her hands through the messy mop of her hair.

“It kinda hurts to say this,” she said, “because 2-D is very special to me. We’re very close in a way that isn’t the same as me and Russel or me and Murdoc. He’s my big brother. And even though I probably have more knowledge than he could ever hope to gather, he has taught me so much. Is still teaching me so much and… well… he’s different with me than with everyone else. I think because I’m younger. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see how he can be petty. Cruel, even. He isn't usually, but sometimes he lashes out when under stress. In little ways. If he actively tried to be mean, I suppose those little ways could be much worse.

“Of course, kicking your chair wouldn’t be _cruel_ ,” Noodle said, “but it _was_ petty. 2-D’s afraid of confrontation, you see. Mostly because of Murdoc, although I don’t think it started with him. From what I know of 2-D, he was very self-effacing, even before he met Murdoc. He doesn’t really know what to do when he’s upset with someone because, in the case of the band, that meant addressing Murdoc and Murdoc was as likely to hit him as anything else. So, if 2-D had an issue with Murdoc, he usually ended up taking it out on him with petty acts… that would have also got him hit, but only if he got caught. If you said something he found offensive, but confronting you might have caused a fight, then it’s very likely that he kicked your chair. I keep hoping that encouraging him to be more forward will help him address issues more directly, but…” she shrugged, “it’s a work in progress.”

“I get where you’re coming from,” Ace said, “but the look on him…”

“He does get a kind of a ‘look’ to him sometimes,” Noodle agreed. “It’s almost malevolent.”

“It’s evil,” Ace told her. “I’ve seen evil. Hell, I’ve worked with evil. I know evil when I see it.”

Noodle shrugged, unconvinced but unwilling to split hairs.

“I haven’t found it corroborates with anything in particular,” she said. “He seems to get it when he’s angry about something Murdoc did or angry at himself for something he did… or didn’t do. It looks worse than it ought to because his eyes are so dark. I don’t think it was related to you specifically. You probably just hit a sore spot when you referenced Murdoc.”

She smiled at him then, amused by his lack of reassurance.

“He isn’t an angel. He’s 2-D,” she said. “He’s as rough and messy as any of us. If you thought he’d be a push-over, you’ve been talking with Murdoc for too long. Murdoc’s belligerent and will bully anyone he can get away with bullying. Even you, if he thought he needed to,” she added slyly. “But he was especially good at bullying 2-D. No one else is ever going to match up. If 2-D even thinks someone is trying, he’s likely to go into defense mode. But he’s also the sweetest person I know. You haven’t been around long enough to see all of him, so… maybe give him a chance and I will talk to him about being a petty dick as soon as I can do it without implicating you.”

Ace allowed himself to be blown off with her promise. He supposed he might have come on a bit strong. He was used to being the one in charge – it was a position he normally gravitated to regardless of what group he found himself with. He was the newcomer though, and he could accept that. If he did not naturally achieve a position of authority over time, he would no doubt share that position with someone else, unless Murdoc finally broke out and came back to the band. He was not the sharing type.

Of course, if Murdoc broke out, he’d probably have to lie low and use Ace as a figurehead. That was just the kind of guy he was.

All of this was fine by Ace. He tended to take things as they rolled. Whether he naturally drifted to the top, or became a top advisor made no difference to him. He only knew he would be one or the other eventually. It was not in his nature to be anything less.

He was not entirely convinced by Noodle’s rhetoric, however. He was quite certain there was something up with 2-D. Not that anything Noodle had said was a lie. He got it. He understood.

2-D was a weasel.

Nothing wrong with that, Ace figured. A weasel was something he could get behind. He had done a fair bit of weaselling in his time. Weasels were useful and tended to fly under radar. They did not fare well in long-term leadership positions – that kind of authority required someone who could jump into a fight at a moment’s notice – but they made decent co-captains and top advisors as long as one kept an eye on them. A weasel fully dedicated to their gang was an even better, rarer treat. They could get a lot done for their friends behind the scenes, were not always choosey about how things were accomplished as long as it benefited those close to them, and could fight like a wolverine if their perceived family came under threat.

Those were all beautiful things, and Noodle’s initial evasiveness told him she thought so too.

However, Ace did not feel that Noodle truly appreciated the twitch of sheer malicious glee that was the last thing he saw flicker across 2-D’s face before he went over backwards in the chair. There was nothing rueful or angry about it. No bitterness or even hatred, be it for himself or Murdoc. He had simply wanted Ace to go over in that moment and go over Ace had.

It bore investigation and careful observation. If worst came to worse, Ace knew he could defend himself. He had the physical advantage over 2-D – who might be an inch taller than he, but was slimmer and less muscular – not to mention a handy selection of pocket knives.

Things went smoothly for the first few sessions. 2-D had some talent, it turned out, which Ace supposed he knew although, to listen to Murdoc, one would not think it to be so. He had Ideas, and Direction, and Vision, and other things often capitalized in smug, elitist magazine. Most importantly, he had an ear for sound, the skill to make it happen, and enough security – or insecurity, Ace was never entirely sure which – to confer with his bandmates, asking and valuing their opinions, taking them into account – even when he disagreed – keeping the changes that worked, and discarding the ones that did not.

He worked long hours, too, much to Noodle’s consternation, a pair of headphones practically glued to his ears as he tried different mixes. All this before they even started recording in a more professional setting!

Ace was so accustomed to seeing 2-D in headphones that he did not notice the wireless pair 2-D sported when he entered the kitchen. It took multiple greetings to realize he was not actually being ignored, but drowned out by the music in 2-D’s ears.

“What’cha got there?” Ace said, snatching the headphones, causing 2-D to pause, dazed and distracted.

He raised one of the headphones to his ear before 2-D snapped out of his stupor.

“Those are mine!” 2-D protested.

“Chill, man. I just want a listen,” Ace said amiably. “See how we’re doin’, you know? If we’re any—“

He should have been ready. He would have told his old gang that he was born ready. Getting the drop on Ace? Not a thing. He would never let it happen. As such, he was not only surprised, but downright terrified to be slammed into the refrigerator.

“Those. Are. _Mine_ ,” 2-D enunciated very deliberately, eyes wide with affront, a handful of Ace’s shirt gripped in his fist, looming over the bassist whose legs managed to support him, but could not find the leverage necessary to push him up to his full height. “I’s not _nice_ to snatch things.”

“Well, yeah… You know… I’ve never been known as a nice guy,” Ace replied, fighting to keep his banter light and hide the fact that he was thrown off guard. “It was just a bit of a tease anyway. Figured you were workin’ too hard, you know? You need to kick back, D.”

Ace was even less prepared for the second slam into the refrigerator. Although there was less force behind it, the element of surprise caused a further loss of footing, putting him at a clear disadvantage. He fumbled for his pockets, seeking the reassuring form of his switchblade, but could not seem to make his hands work the way he wanted them to.

“A’s what Russ calls me,” 2-D said, his tone reasonable now, but his eyes boring clear through Ace and into the unknown.

“Yeah, man. That’s why I thought it was cool with you,” Ace said, forcing himself to keep it friendly.

“I dun want you to call me what Russ calls me,” 2-D told him with that same vacant stare. “It dun sound right. Dun call me that again. Understand?”

Ace was not accustomed to bowing to authority, but his sense of self preservation was ahead of the curve.

“Yes, sir!” he barked.

His sharp reply seemed to bring 2-D back to himself a little, albeit still confused and somewhat out of focus.

“No. No…” 2-D said, releasing Ace’s shirt and very solicitously helping him to stand up and straighten his clothing. “No ‘sir’. I’s too milit’ry, you know? Too formal. We’re a band. A… um… ‘co-operative collective’, Russ says. We work together. Although,” he added as he wheedled his headphones from Ace and hung them around his neck, quite near to his ears, “even those who work together have someone in charge.”

“So… sir?” Ace inquired, wanting nothing more than to escape the kitchen unscathed.

“No…” 2-D replied, almost breathed, his eyes strangely alight, leaning in much closer than Ace would prefer. “There’s got to be another word. You’ve done a gang. You ought to know one.”

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Ace said, grinning nervously, “but if I think of one, I’ll let you know.”

“Think fast,” 2-D said, drawing back.

“Boss!” Ace shouted as 2-D’s fist loomed large in his field of vision.

It froze an inch from his nose. Beyond it, Ace could see 2-D’s lips peel back from his teeth in a feral smile.

“I like ‘boss’,” 2-D said. “I’s very… head of a group. Very foreman-like, yeah?”

“Yeah, Boss,” Ace agreed, thrown too far off-balance to save face. “That’s exactly it.”

“Good,” 2-D said, turning off the headphones looped around his neck. He pushed himself away from the refrigerator, blinking as though he were waking up, and offered Ace a look of concern.

“Are you a’right?” he asked gently.

“Fine, Boss,” Ace replied, completely stunned. 2-D looked surprised and delighted, as though he had not nearly broken Ace’s nose for the acknowledgement.

“Oh, well… you ought to take care,” 2-D said. “I’s very stressful, recording an album, an’ we haven’t even really started yet. I always get stressed, so I know. If you can sleep easily, i’s a good time to make sure you’re fully rested or do yoga with Noodle or something. I do that sometimes. I’s supposed to ‘balance your chakras’, although I’m not too good at that part,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “I just do what Noodle tells me.”

“I’ll… I’ll consider that. Yeah,” Ace replied.

“A’s good. I’m just gonna get a drink and go back to work.”

“Sounds good, Boss.”

“You’re in front of the refrigerator,” 2-D said, amused.

“Sorry. You’re right,” Ace said, sidling over toward the door. “I’m just gonna go… check on Noodle, maybe.”

“A’s a good plan,” 2-D told him. “She’s a good yoga teacher.”

If 2-D said any more, Ace did not hear him. He was already out the door and headed for his room where he could recover and analyze what the hell had just happened. He could understand the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of listening to some great tracks, but 2-D had clearly overreacted.

Especially since nothing was coming out of those headphones. No music, no practise tracks, not even the news…

Nothing.


	5. Russel

“No, it needs to come out. Too heavy.”

Russel ran the track a second time, ears open to the bass.

“D, I respect your opinions,” he said, “but I gotta ask. You’re not just stripping the bass outta everything ‘cause it’s Murdoc’s are ya? ‘Cause it ain’t that bad.”

“Not _bad_ , no,” 2-D agreed, toying with the headphones he held in his lap, lost in thought. “But we only had bits to work with, really. Askin’ Ace to bump it up is fine an’ he’s done a really good job of bridgin’ the bits together, like we always had two bass players, but the song’s too light to carry both. Plus we got a lot of new stuff that’s all Ace on it. I think the album needs constancy.”

“Consistency?”

“A’s what I thought,” 2-D said, nodding once in affirmation.

Russel sighed.

“D, we can’t keep re-recording tracks if we’re gonna make this deadline.”

“But i’s gotta sound _right_ ,” 2-D insisted, snapping out of his semi-trance long enough to turn on his hurt puppy expression. “We dun have to do it all right away. We can fade out the bass and get Ace to play along with the music just to see. If it sounds good, we record it again. If it dun sound any better, we leave it.”

“Messy, but do-able,” Russel agreed.

Anticipating his agreement, 2-D was already texting Ace to join them.

“I’ll get Noodle to come listen too,” he said. “She can be tie-breaker if we dun agree.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

Although he worried about how hard 2-D was pushing himself – and all the rest of them, to be honest – Russel had to admit that he was more than fair about his decisions. He would campaign hard to get what he wanted, but he always ran his desires past his bandmates and, if he found himself truly outnumbered, then he abided by the majority rule. Not always graciously, or cheerfully, Russel thought, but he did it. And if the loss put him in a mood, it did not take long for it to wear off. 2-D was, overall, much calmer and more relaxed now that Murdoc was not around to bully him.

Of course, “relaxed” was relative. 2-D was far more at ease than he was in Murdoc’s presence, but that did not mean he was not a flurry of activity, sometimes almost constant. He might look happily exhausted, but exhausted he was all the same. He was apt to make himself ill if he kept pushing himself, and yet…

Russel supposed he could force 2-D to rest more often, take more breaks, go out and get more sun, but it was difficult to bring 2-D around when he was in “the zone”, eyes almost vacant as though he could see clear through reality. It was difficult to bring him around and… undesirable. 2-D in “the zone” was a wide open receiver, latching on to Russel’s philosophies and refracting them into kaleidoscope patterns, mixing them into the music, producing a hypnotic sound that lulled the listener into the same receptive mood.

2-D in “the zone” was useful.

“Yeah, Boss? You called?” Ace leaned into the room, hand still on the doorknob.

That was another strange thing. Out of the blue, Ace had begun calling 2-D “Boss”, as though it were some sort of nickname. 2-D occasionally seemed pleased and flattered by the acknowledgement, but paid little attention to it when there was something else on his mind. Russel might have thought nothing of it, but there was a flatness of tone when Ace said it, suggesting he was not entirely pleased to do so. If that were the case, Russel wondered why he bothered.

“Yeah, I’d like to try this track with just you,” 2-D said. He launched into the same explanation he had given Russel, stopping when Noodle arrived to give her a summary of what she had missed, and then continuing on.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing what Ace does it with either,” Noodle said and Russel knew then that he would be outnumbered. It remained to be seen whether Ace could manage it, but, if he could, there was no doubt in Russel’s mind that 2-D would request he do another, and another, until Ace remained the only bassist on the album.

Which was not inherently a bad thing, Russel admitted. He was not especially concerned with whether or not Murdoc had a presence in the new music, but working with existing material had been convenient. Even so, if they replaced enough of Murdoc’s material, it would be ridiculous not to replace all of it. Consistency _did_ matter, even if 2-D suffered occasional lapses of vocabulary.

“You got it, Boss,” Ace said. “I’ll hit the booth. You can serve me up when you’re ready. Gimme a few bars for a dry run, then take it from the top.”

2-D agreed to the terms, and then waited until Ace had settled himself and put on headphones to hear the music. 2-D started the track and they listened as Ace messed around a little, getting himself into the flow of it. Once Ace seemed comfortable, they started again, the bass coming in sure and steady against the initial recording, Ace weaving in a few flourishes that were not in the original.

It really was better, Russel had to admit. He could not put a finger on what _exactly_ changed the effect, but Ace’s hand was certainly lighter than Murdoc’s, which suited the song just fine.

“I love it,” Noodle said, humming her appreciation. “I think Ace’s style is definitely the way to go for this song.”

“You win,” Russel said, clapping 2-D on the back, both in congratulations and to dislodge some of the smug plastered all over his face.

“We ought to do the rest the same,” 2-D said, bolstered by his success. “For _consistency_.”

“Consistency is best,” Noodle agreed and 2-D puffed up a little more with her support. “We only have a few scraps of things that Murdoc recorded before he got his ass thrown in jail. Just strip it out and put Ace on this one. He’s done a great job. He deserves it.”

Russel supposed he expected that and, in truth, had no particular complaint. He owed Murdoc nothing. Even so…

“As the voice of reason, I gotta ask…” he said, but Noodle cut him off.

“I’m not just saying that because Murdoc’s dick of the year,” she said. “Murdoc’s a great bassist. If he were around, he’d be on every track. But he fucked himself and he’s not here. Ace is here. I don’t think he has as much music savvy as Murdoc does, but he has a great sound. Is it better than Murdoc’s? I don’t know. But it’s definitely more appropriate to the music we’re recording this time around. I’m not even sure we’d be making this album if Murdoc were here, but he isn’t and we are and Ace sounds great. If he’s on every track, we’ll have a consistent sound and it will be a great one. _That’s_ why I think we should switch him in.”

“Well put,” Russel told her. “I ain’t arguin’. He sounds great. I just need to make sure your reasons are sound.”

“I know and I love you,” Noodle told him, coming around the back of his chair to hug him from behind. “Everyone needs to have their motives checked now and then. You are doing an amazing job.”

“What about me?” 2-D said, looking forlorn.

“You are doing an amazing job too,” Noodle told him, hugging him from behind as well. “You’re really pulling this album together. I’m so proud of you!”

“Hey, guys?” Ace’s voice interrupted the love-in with an edge of impatience. “Verdict?”

“You’re in!” Noodle shouted to him over the com system, prompting a startled muttering of, “Geez, my ears!”

“Sorry,” she called softly, trying not to laugh.

By the time Ace rejoined them they were already mapping out schedules to get the new recordings ready as quickly as possible. Ace did his best to look beleaguered and put-upon, but Russel could tell that he was pleased and never in doubt of the outcome. Russel acknowledged it all the same with a grin and a clap on the back.

“You did a great job. Hope we’re not imposing.”

“Ey, I’m a man who delivers,” Ace said, hands spread. “I said I could do it. I did. Anything else is bad business, you know? Are we doin’ anything else tonight?”

“I’s too late to do recording now, especially if you think you wanna look the music over again,” 2-D began putting a pair of headphones over his head, “but I’m gonna start going through the tracks that—“

“We’re gonna eat, is what we’re gonna do,” Russel said, cutting 2-D off and pulling the headphones off him from behind. “We’ve been working all day, in one way or another, and you especially. I don’t think you’ve had a bite since you got up this morning.”

“I ate,” 2-D protested.

“When? Yesterday? Day before? I get that you’re stoked, but that ain’t healthy. Everyone needs a break and you especially. Furthermore, we need a break for something nice. We should go out, kick back with a drink or two, get a decent night’s sleep and start up again tomorrow.”

Russel nodded to Noodle, signalling that she should grab Ace and get out. Shit was about to go down. It was a signal she was familiar with, the look of confusion stealing across her face caused by the who and not the what. It was a signal Russel normally reserved for situations in which he needed to confront Murdoc.

“You two go find a restaurant we can crash,” he told her, giving her an excuse to leave. “I’m gonna help D clean up in here.”

“I’m a grown man, I can eat when I want,” 2-D huffed once Noodle and Ace had left and Russel sat back down across from him and stared him down. “I can make my own choices.”

“Yeah, you are. And yeah, you can,” Russel told him patiently. “Here’s the thing though: I’ve known you for like, twenty years, man. You’ve always had some kind of anxiety. It just shows up in different places. Murdoc being gone and you having control of a project has been fucking amazing for you. You’re more at ease and taking on responsibilities you would have been afraid of, once upon a time, but you’re still wound up like a spring. You don’t need to have everything done _right now_ , no matter what that voice in your head is telling you. I talk about deadlines this and deadlines that, but that’s just practical. Deadlines can be moved. Murdoc moved them all the time. The idea is to question whether they’re worth moving. In this case, you were right. Ace’s sound is the best for this music. If that means we take more time recording him, so be it. We move the release date and—“

“No. It has to be out for summer.”

It was not a protest. It was a flat denial. Russel could almost see the anger rising in 2-D, taking over every muscle and every tendon as he leaned forward, matching Russel’s stare.

“Nowhere does it say the album _has_ —“

“ _I_ said so!”

What had slowly crept along engulfed 2-D in a rush, catapulting him out of his chair to loom over Russel, jaw clenched and brow furrowed, spilling out through his eyes when it ran out of space to fill.

2-D was a crier. Not a sobber, not even someone given to despair, but he tended to tear up over any strong emotion. Russel did not know if he had always been that way or if multiple accidents had crossed some wires in his brain, but it had certainly been true of him since Russel had met him. He cried in sadness, but also in joy, fear, and even anticipation.

He also cried in rage.

Knowing this, Russel had to admit there were few things as terrifying as 2-D aggressively bent over him, every line of his face taut with anger, fury radiating from the red-black wells of his eyes as tears coursed down his cheeks.

Fortunately for him, Russel had met every one of those few things.

He calmly pushed his chair back so he could stand without bumping into 2-D – a situation that did not do much to alleviate the looming, 2-D being several inches taller than he – and then he grabbed his incensed bandmate by the shirt and used his greater mass to thrust him up against the wall, pinning him there by both arms when he tried to fight.

From Russel’s perspective, 2-D weighed next to nothing at all, but he did not seem to realize it, snarling and snapping and frothing at Russel to let him go. Russel took the hail of rancour and held steady, waiting for the kid to wear himself out.

Kid? The kid was forty years old for fuck sake, but still a kid, having little to none of the practical experience accrued by most adults. Fucking Murdoc, Russel thought. It wasn’t all Murdoc’s fault, of course, but he’d done his bit to curtail any growth in the interest of keeping 2-D dependent and subservient, making their current situation harder than it needed to be.

Leave it to Murdoc to fuck up everyone’s lives, even from behind bars.

2-D was physically stronger than Russel remembered, but he had run himself ragged since they decided to put out another album and had little energy to spare. Adrenaline gave him a boost, but it wore out quickly once he realized that Russel was far stronger than he and not about to let him go until he calmed down. It left him panting and shivery, and only then did Russel ease his hold a little, although he did not let 2-D go entirely.

“D, you can’t treat people like robots,” he said. “There are a set number of hours in the day and some of them have to go to sleeping, eating, and just fucking around.”

“I din’t ask anyone else to stay,” 2-D replied petulantly. “I just… I just want to… to work on…”

“You can’t do it to you either,” Russel told him calmly. “You’re a people too, D.”

It was enough to set 2-D crying again, possibly from sheer exhaustion, although Russel also suspected that few people made it a point to remind him he was human.

“You dun understand,” 2-D murmured, a little confused, a little unfocused. “I gotta get it done. I gotta. It said—“

“Who said?” Russel prompted, but 2-D looked bewildered and shrugged. “I told you. You don’t have to listen to that voice in your head. You don’t have to pay it no mind.”

“But it hurts…”

“Yeah, it’s gonna,” Russel told him. “Going against instinct does. But it’s gonna hurt more if you follow it to the point where you don’t eat and hardly sleep. Come here.”

Russel was not a tactile person, but 2-D was, and he dragged the singer into a solid hug that stilled some of his shivering and steadied his breathing. 2-D made a soft, whimpering noise before returning the embrace, and then stepped away, mindful of Russel’s tolerances. It was this thoughtful action more than anything else that signalled a return to calm, and Russel let 2-D go, patting his shoulder.

“You all right there? You ready to eat?” he said. 2-D offered a subdued nod. “You hungry for anything special? I sent Noodle out to find a list of restaurants, but we’ll go wherever you want. You deserve a treat.”

“S–Sushi,” 2-D said hesitantly. “I—I want sushi.”

“You want it, you got it,” Russel told him. “Go have a quick wash if you want. I’ll see if Noodle and Ace know of any good sushi places. That good for you?”

2-D nodded, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand, and meekly left the room with a promise to meet them in ten.

Russel watched him leave, feeling a bit bad for coming down on him so hard. It made him feel like Murdoc, even though he had not beaten 2-D, just reminded him that he needed a rest now and then. It was perfectly reasonable, even if it changed 2-D’s angry self-assurance into self-effacement.

In spite of this, it bothered him a little. Both the doing and the needing to be done. It was not that 2-D did not have a temper or was never obstinate, but it was the first time he had seen 2-D devolve into a complete, rage-filled tantrum. 2-D was not the confrontational type and tended not to yell or pick fights. The most actively vicious Russel had ever seen him was usually in response to something Murdoc had said or done and, as Murdoc set the tone for viciousness, he brought it upon himself. Apart from some pettiness, 2-D gave far less grief than he took. Under normal circumstances, his rage would have manifested as a sulk, allowing him to spread a little local misery without bringing too much attention to himself.

Russel supposed his and Noodle’s encouragement of 2-D to express himself might have led to the outburst, especially coupled with exhaustion and anxiety. At least, he hoped that was the issue. If so, then it would take nothing more than a reasonable argument to reign in any unreasonable anger, perhaps with some light physical restraint like today.

He hoped, but he took little for granted. He would would keep an eye on things and see how they progressed.

In the meantime, there was sushi.


	6. Noodle

“There’s somethin’ wrong wit’cher boy.”

“We’re not doing this again,” Noodle huffed. “There’s nothing _wrong_ with 2-D. He’s been snappish a few times, but he’s under a lot of stress.”

In fact, she was a little bit worried about 2-D, but she was not about to let a relative stranger comment on the matter. Ace had been with them a while now, but she had known 2-D since she was a child. If his behaviour needed criticizing, _she_ would be the one to do it, please and thank you.

“Uh-huh,” Ace said.

He was kicked back on the sofa, Katsu curled a short distance away, while she sat at the table, playing games on her laptop. They hung out together more often than not. Ace and Russel got along all right, but had too few shared interests to hold a sustained conversation. Russel was a powerhouse of information, but tended not to put much stock in trends or memes – especially online, where information could be faked and the clever could feed on the unwary – while Ace, in spite of being closer to Russel’s age than her own, was enough of a schmooze to keep his finger on the pulse of modern communication. Hence, Russel hung out more and more with 2-D and she hung out with Ace.

She rarely hung out with 2-D anymore, and Ace almost never.

It was not that 2-D did not get along with Ace or would not fit into their conversations. In fact, Noodle would have been happy to include him. She felt the three of them could get up to some serious and legally questionable fun together. But 2-D was holed up in the studio more often than not and even when he was home, he walked around in a daze, a pair of bluetooth headphones fixed in place. If he was out in public, he switched over to ear buds so as not to muss his hair.

It was a lot different than the recording of Humanz, when she and 2-D spent a lot of time together, catching up on all the things that had happened to them since her apparent death, messing about, playing games, or often just… being. Together. In the same room. Much like she and Ace were right now. The difference was that she would not feel comfortable getting up, walking over to the sofa, and flopping down on top of Ace, curling up against him, or resting her head on his shoulder. Heaven forbid they should nap in the same bed. She was an adult and Ace was an adult and that would Mean Something.

2-D was an adult and she was an adult, but he was Big Brother and she was Little Sister and head pats were allowed. Hugs were allowed. Hell, naps were _allowed_ … at least at home. She would not try it out in public, but at home, if she wanted to throw herself down on the sofa even while he was already napping on it, she could. It was a nuisance, not an invitation.

She kind of missed him.

“He’s been working really hard,” she insisted.

“Too hard.”

“He’s determined to prove himself.”

“You’re not helping him,” Ace told her. “It’s not just getting my chair kicked – Fuck, that was an amazing head shot, what the fuck? – it’s other things too. I know I don’t know him as well as you do, but we’ve hung out a few times in the past – Shit, that was close! – and he’s not acting normal. I mean, he kinda is, but then he’s not. It’s like he’s paying attention to something no one else can see or hear.”

“Toochi—“ Noodle began, distracted, and then corrected herself, wishing Ace would shut up. “2-D just gets distracted sometimes.”

She had noticed them too, these little lapses in behaviour, but could not bring herself to face them. They were not so far off 2-D’s regular behaviour after all, simply… more intense. Less inhibited.

More thoughtless.

2-D was not perfect – she knew it well enough – but he was her big brother and she retained a certain girlish hero worship for those parts of him she most admired: creativity, spontaneity, intuition. And those were just his artistic talents. He was also kind and more emotionally balanced than his anxiety might suggest. Certainly more emotionally balanced than Murdoc or even Russel, although Russel’s steadiness fooled many into thinking otherwise.

And 2-D was so _happy_ these days – most of the time – that she could not bring herself to countermand him on those occasions when his demands edged into the unreasonable or he became fervently focused on a minute point and would argue or complain about it for hours. The acts themselves were not beyond the scope of 2-D’s natural behaviour, but the sheer persistence and relentlessness of them put her off.

She hoped it was the stress of the album. She really did. She told herself it was and that, when everything was finally recorded to his satisfaction, he would be able to relax a little. Just a little. Just enough to be her _niichan_ again.

She really did miss him.

“I get that,” Ace said, apparently ignoring the constant thoughts of silence she was sending his way, “but there’s something straight-up fucking _wrong_ with him. I’m not talkin’ a big, overblown thing here— Holy fuck, did you just sniper that guy in the nuts?”

“Yes,” she said pointedly, but Ace did not take the hint.

“Anyway, I’m not talkin’ big. I’m talking… a little thing that’s kinda pushin’ him over the edge, and no amount of imouto-moe ‘niichan-niichan’ fuckeroni and cheese is gonna help him.”

“How do you even…?” Noodle began, taking one eye off her game to half turn towards Ace.

“Grubber watched a lot of anime shit and I got hang ups about magical girls. Look,” Ace said, firmly and reasonably. “I’m not saying it’s some wild-ass thing going down. I’m just saying he’s got something going on in his head. Could be mundane as fuck, but we don’t know that ‘cause the two people who should be most worried about it are walkin’ around with blinders on.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” Noodle sighed. The conversation had her so low that she could not even take pleasure in her team’s victory. “Do you think I can force him to behave in a way you find acceptable?”

“You could try talkin’ to him,” Ace told her as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “See what’s wrong. I mean, so could I, but I don’t think my opinion’s gonna hold much weight with him if _you_ don’t even give a shit.”

Noodle slammed her hand down on the table, causing Ace to jump, and hauled herself from her seat like an avenging Fury.

“How _dare_ you!” she snapped, looming over Ace as he cringed backward. “How. Fucking. _Dare._ You! Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to him? He says he’s fine. He brushes me off. He shuts me out unless it’s for the album. Always the bloody _album_. And even if you get him away, you can’t keep his attention. He’s laser-focused on something miles away and he won’t share it with me. He won’t share it. With _me_! Do you know how that feels?”

“Like shit, probably,” Ace said, trying to become part of the furniture. “You wanna tone it down a bit?”

“Sorry,” Noodle said, backing away a little, not really sorry at all, but realizing that further anger was unproductive. Anger happened, and that was all right. Bottling it up was bad. But it was also important to own it and put it away when it was no longer useful.

2-D had taught her that.

“Geez,” Ace huffed, sounding jittery. “The violence wit'chu guys. First with fucking D, then—“

_”What?”_

Ace froze as though he had just realized he had said too much. Then he sighed and told her about the incident in the kitchen.

“He did that?” Noodle said, perplexed. Being bullied – at least by someone who was not Murdoc – would have angered and frustrated 2-D. She had no doubt of that. He would not have read Ace’s intentions as a joke because the kind of people who did such things to him were seldom joking. He would have sputtered and snapped until his headgear was returned, that she believed, but he would have stopped short of throwing someone up against the appliances. He might have _wanted_ to do it, but he would not have. Partly because he would have known that such a punishment would not suit the crime, and partly because it was what Murdoc might have done to him and he knew how it felt.

“I didn’t wanna bring it up, you know?” Ace said, dropping his legs to brace against the floor and inching toward the edge of the sofa. “Give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s stressed, like you say. Probably got a lot of pressure on him during recordings that’s usually suppressed. Whatever. But he did it, yeah.”

“I’m… sorry,” Noodle told him, not knowing what else to say.

“But you believe me, right?”

Ace looked poised to flee if she took offense. Noodle rolled her eyes at him and dropped down to sit beside him, giving Katsu a scritch as she did so.

“I suppose I do,” she told him. “I… don’t want to, but I guess I ought to, even if it doesn’t sound like 2-D at all. I mean, it does, but it doesn’t. It…”

She gestured vaguely, at a loss for words.

“I know what you mean,” Ace said. “Like I said, it’s not a big thing, and I’m not saying he’s a terrible person, but something’s wrong. Something that’s… too wild. Too intense. Whatever. You know? Ask him what the fuck it is before he gets his ass killed.”

“I think that’s a little extreme,” Noodle said, wondering if it really was. “Besides, I told you I talked to him and—“

“Then talk to him again,” Ace told her. “If he blows you off, fine. Let it drop for a day or two, and then talk to him again. You don’t even need to push. Just ask. Like, ‘Ey, bro. You doin’ all right? You look a little tired. You wanna talk about it?’ and if he says no, fine. Just ask again later in case he changed his mind, but feels stupid for passing you up the first time. Lets him know you’re still interested if he ever wants to talk. Otherwise…”

Ace shrugged and pulled a lollipop from his pocket, offering it to her and pulling out a second when she accepted. She would have preferred nicotine, she thought as she unwrapped the candy and popped it in her mouth, but Ace was less dependent than the rest of the band when it came to cigarettes, claiming they made his food taste funny. His cravings for sugar, however, could rival 2-D's.

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” she said.

“Well, you’re legally stupid at seventeen,” Ace told her, waving his lollipop around for emphasis. “Then, after a while, your thinking changes, but your habits don’t. If you’re kind of a dick, you’re a dick even to the people you know you can’t do without. You miss things ‘cause you’re just too cool to roll with the rabble. Then there’s a fucking blow up and someone ends up in the hospital and you figure out that fucking with the people that have your back is bad business. Especially if you walk on the shady side of the road.”

Noodle half-smiled.

“I don’t think it’s that drastic,” she said.

“Hey, I ever show you my ink?” Ace said, rolling the lollipop to the corner of his mouth.

“Am I going to need a restraining order if you do?”

“Hardy-fucking-har,” Ace snorted and pulled his shirt off over his head. A number of the usual decorative elements – skulls and serpents and sigils, oh my! – wound about his arms and across his chest, but the real art was revealed when Ace turned his back to her.

The tattoo was impressive. An Ace of Spades motif, of course, threaded in and around the classic ‘bad boy’ imagery of cars, booze, barbed wire, and explosions. No guns, however. Instead of firearms, two switchblades crossed as they pierced the central spade.

“Wow,” Noodle said, touching the outline of a knife. It looked real enough to pull right out of Ace’s back.

“Fuckin’ A,” Ace agreed, putting his shirt back on. “Snake did that. Talented as shit. Wins awards now. He didn’t do his own, but he designed them. He’s got a few, but his first ones are still the best ones.” He paused in contemplation. “Two full sleeves. Lots of detail. If he rolls up to a venue, you should get him to show you.”

“I… will,” Noodle said, and then sighed, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her head in her hands. “I just don’t want to kill his enthusiasm, you know? It’s such a careful path to tread. He’s finally allowed to express himself and make all his ideas a reality. And they’re good ones! They really are! But it’s like he’s… not always there anymore.”

“Wait until he is, and then ask him,” Ace emphasized. “And again if you need to. He’ll crack eventually. Especially if it’s obvious that you’re worried. In the meantime,” he said, pulling out his wallet to check his funds, “you wanna get ice cream? I want ice cream.”

“2-D and Russel will be back soon,” Noodle told him, not really feeling like going out. She dreaded the thought of needling 2-D, but knew Ace was right. 2-D would eventually tell her if something was bothering him. What worried her was that he was telling the truth. He seemed genuinely unbothered by his situation and might take offense at her insistence that he was behaving oddly.

Even so… an offended 2-D was better than the possibility of a dead one.

“We’ll get them ice cream too,” Ace told her. “Just as long as they have the decency to show up before it melts.”

“That’s what the freezer is for,” Noodle said, feeling a bit better at the prospect of bringing home ice cream to share.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t know. Mine doesn’t last that long.”

Noodle grinned. “You’re a work of art, Ace.”

“You ought to see what I do to a rocket pop.”

“I’d just as soon not. Thanks all the same.”


	7. Ace

Venice Beach was the kind of place Ace could get behind. Sun, sand… surf maybe not so much, but there were other things to do. Things like wearing loud Hawaiian shirts with straw hats and dad sandals. Guaranteed to annoy the locals and send Noodle into an apoplexy of poor taste.

Also, spitting on people from the balcony.

The balcony was, by far, the best part of the crew’s rented house. High enough to generate some decent speed for impact, low enough not to throw off his aim, and deep enough that he could step back and not be seen while he enjoyed the general commotion below.

Everyone grew older, but growing up was optional.

It almost made him feel bad for avoiding 2-D. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d enjoy a good balcony session. Ace had convinced Noodle to join him once or twice, but she needed a motive, like a clear shot at the video producer. The existence of a balcony was not enough. Russel only spread his hands in a patented “What the fuck?” gesture when invited, so he was out. If Murdoc had been around, he would have escalated it to dropping rocks and lit cigarette butts. Bad business. But 2-D seemed juvenile enough to be happily roped in, even if he would not think of it on his own.

Hell, Ace thought 2-D was a pretty decent guy, all things considered. A little weird sometimes, but whatever. People were weird. You had to figure out their particular weirdness and work it into your expectations, that was all. Even so, he shied away from being caught alone with the guy. 2-D still dipped into that strange zone of half-awareness now and then and Ace did not want to risk another kitchen incident.

Fate seemed less averse to risks than he as 2-D stepped through the patio door just as Ace contemplated potential targets.

“Hello,” 2-D said cheerfully, but also wearily.

“Hey, Boss,” Ace said, amiable but wary, as 2-D leaned up against the balcony wall. “You ready for the shoot?”

“Yeah. I think so,” 2-D said.

“You sound worried.”

2-D looked out towards the beach for a while, and then offered a little half-shrug.

“I can skate a'right,” he said. “Used to do it a lot, but… I’m not fancy an’… I dun usually do it in front of people.”

“Performance issues.” Ace nodded sagely, affecting an air of great wisdom. “They get the best of all of us.”

2-D snickered. If Ace could count on 2-D for anything, it was to pick up on the dirty aspect of any joke.

“I always had stage fright. At least a little bit,” 2-D admitted, rubbing his forearms. “I’s hard to go on in front of loads of people. Scary. But then they cheer at you and sound happy to see you an’ i’s not so bad anymore. It feels nice, havin’em want you. I’s diff’rent with a camera though. It dun care if you do good, but i’s happy to make you a fool if you do bad.”

“Not too much different from people, actually,” Ace said. “Do one good thing and no one takes notice, but do one bad thing and they’ll hound you about it forever. Not that I haven’t done things that don’t deserve hounding, but, you know, there are things and there are _things_.”

2-D snickered again and Ace, who had been stuck on petty crime, huffed and whacked 2-D on the arm.

Then he froze, unsure of how 2-D would react to that.

He hardly seemed to notice.

“Oh, sorry,” 2-D said, not sounding sorry in the least. “I din’t know that wan’t a ‘performance issue’.”

“Hardy har,” Ace said. “Anyway, you’ll do fine. You’ve done a great job with the album so far.”

2-D said nothing to that, only turned to look at him, blood-black eyes tear bright. He attempted a reply, but could not seem to find his voice.

Noodle had warned him about this and Ace wondered why 2-D was so overwhelmed by the compliment when Noodle and Russel said similar things to him all the time.

It dawned on him then that this _was_ the reason why. Neither Noodle nor Russel was very subtle about their attempts to bolster 2-D and any compliment, no matter how genuine, was apt to sound like just another run of the mill pat on the back. The same compliment from someone outside the band’s regular line-up carried weight.

“Um… thank you,” 2-D finally managed. “I always wanted to do an album in my thoughts-like, but never could. The first one was kind of all of us, but Murdoc had the final say in things ‘cause the band was his idea. The second one was Noodle’s mostly. Third one was Murdoc’s an’ anyone he could make work for him. Murdoc says he was forced to do Humanz, but the way it came out was mostly ‘cause of all the artists Russel knew. I did The Fall kind of in secret. It wan’t much an’ I did it all with computers while bein’ dragged off to tour. I’s a’right, but it wan’t a proper album with the band and some guests and singles and videos. I like that I can do this one. I like that you’re playin’ on it. I like the way your bass sounds with it. I… I like that I can say things I need to say in… in ways that maybe people will listen to.”

Ace wondered if 2-D was aware he was crumbling apart verbally and decided that 2-D probably was. He had a certainty about his talents that came out when discussing the practical of the album, sometimes veering directly into the cocky. It was also the frame of mind most likely to wander into wild, blank-eyed territory. 2-D discussing his actual self was a different beast altogether, almost shivery and shy, talking around the topic instead of about it. He seemed unable to find the words he wanted. They might not even exist. Or else he had never learned them, never thinking himself important enough to have words to describe him.

Fucking Murdoc, Ace thought.

Ace was the kind of guy who “knew a guy” – occasionally knowing a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy – but usually being the guy who knew a guy because he had been in a gang and because he like to network. He loved to schmooze and mingle and chat and charm and even if he was not always successful, he was always _successful_. One did not have to get on someone’s good side to “know” them. One did not need every pick-up line to net them a partner for the evening, every interview to get them a job, or every negotiation to be a winner. One only needed to find out what the other person did for a living, how to contact them, and to be remembered.

Ace was damned good at being remembered.

Murdoc now… Murdoc was a good guy to know. Murdoc was not quite a guy who knew a guy, but he could always find a guy, or an item, or a service, none of them necessarily legal. Murdoc had come in contact with his gang just as they were coming into their own, looking for a group with varied skills to further some scheme. They had helped him out. He had tried to avoid paying them, but Billy took care of that in a trice, and they had been paid. Murdoc was a good guy to know, as long as you got paid in advance.

He was also everything Ace knew he could have become if he and the boys had been a little less dependent upon one another. If he had thought, for instance, that he could have done without them, brushed them off, and dismissed them. Adopted the “use ‘em and lose ‘em” attitude that Murdoc so often displayed.

Ace would not have said he was better than that, but he had learned that he was smarter than that. Strong connections were good business, personally and economically. The gang was split up now, but they all stayed in contact. Most of them were the guys that he knew and the guys that knew guys. They were a secure web, now, but one that might not have existed if he had not given two fucks the last time he saw someone tumble into verbal disconnect and realized it might be his fault.

“Gotta say, I’m flattered, Boss,” Ace told him. “It’s a good gig. I wanna do it justice.”

He saw a mark, spat over the edge of the balcony, debated letting 2-D take the heat for half a second, and then yanked him back against the patio door as one of the film crew shouted in annoyance below. 2-D crooned quietly behind his hand as the target walked away in disgust.

“A’s terrible,” 2-D said unconvincingly.

"You're only saying that 'cause you're not the one who did it," Ace told him. "Give it a shot, it'll loosen you up."

"Nah. I's not very nice," 2-D told him, but Ace could tell by the mischievous gleam in 2-D's eye that he did not mean it. "I just came out to get some sun. Could go to the beach, I s'pose, but there're too many people down there an'... an' the beach is too close to the ocean."

"I'm not big on oceans either. Aquaphobia," Ace explained when 2-D looked at him curiously. "Deep water gives me panic attacks. Deep water, open water, moving water... I won't even take a bath. Showers are all right, as long as the drainage is good, and I can fill a sink full of water, but I hate getting splashed without warning."

"That sounds hard," 2-D said, his tone genuinely sympathetic. "I dun mind water so much. I'm just scared of whales."

"No whales coming this close to land," Ace assured him. "At least whales are a reasonable fear."

"All fears are reasonable," 2-D said. "If you're afraid, i's for a reason. Sometimes you can make the reason go away, but sometimes you can't. No one's less for that."

Ace had been expecting a joke or snide comment. It would not have bothered him. It was what he was used to. He never brought up phobias without a ready comeback and his preparations were always justified. At least until today. 2-D's gentle understanding was so unusual, it was almost more than he could bear.

"Thanks, Boss," he said, unable to meet the singer in the eye. "That means a lot."

"You... You dun need to call me 'Boss'," 2-D told him almost shyly. "I's very flat'ring, but you dun have to. You can call me '2-D'. Or 'Stuart'. Um, 'Stu' even. I's my name. The one I was born with, I mean."

Sincere. Still sincere. He was so sincere, as if he had no clue what had happened in the kitchen that day, and yet Ace knew he would not give up the habit for his own safety. Regardless of 2-D's sincerity, there was something in him that could shift into overdrive, and it was far less gentle than the 2-D beside him now.

The question was, would he simply insist or be honest and hope that his fears still seemed reasonable?

"I gotta, Boss," Ace said, deciding to go whole hog. "You tried to break my nose when I didn't."

"Oh."

It was less a comment than a sigh. An exhalation of sadness, far from the protests Ace expected.

"Oh, um..." 2-D began. And then, "I... I'm sorry. I... I've been forgetting things, I think. There are bits and holes. I forget loads’a things, but this is different. Usually, I can still remember what I was about, you know? But sometimes, just recently, I can't remember anything. Not where I was or what I was doing. I din't realize I'd done something like that."

"I believe you, Boss," Ace said, and the Hell of it was, he did. Mere moments after threatening him, 2-D had seemed unaware of the occurrence. "I believe you, but I'm not gonna take the chance that it'll happen again. You tell anyone about this? Forgetting things, I mean?"

"Not yet," 2-D said. "I wan't sure about it. I thought it was just me, but... but if I'm maybe hurtin' people..."

"You should tell Russel and Noodle," Ace told him. "I mean, I appreciate your mentioning it to me, but I don't know you like they do, and I can't trust you won't go off again."

"I understand."

2-D looked despondent, picking at his fingers, and then he turned to go back inside.

Ace grabbed his arm, not liking the vibes coming off of him. Ace always maintained he would to rise to the top, that it was the kind of guy he was, but there were ways of going about it and there were _ways_ and he no longer held with the latter.

"It's not your fault," he said. "Sometimes people need help. It's okay to need help. I have friends who needed help. Hell, _I've_ needed help. I'm not chasin' you off, I'm just sayin' I'm not gonna push my luck. Check it," he said tilting his head toward the end of the road, where a fresh mark was approaching the balcony, "your voice coach."

2-D looked at the approaching figure, lost in contemplation.

"If you got lollies, we can spit in colours," he said.

Ace grinned and reached into his pocket.

"I like the way you think, Boss."


	8. Noodle

The shoot was taking longer than expected and everyone was getting antsy.

Noodle could hardly blame them. They only had so much time for filming and they had already wasted most of the day. If they took much longer, the light would shift and schedules would have to be re-arranged to come back out tomorrow.

The trouble was 2-D.

She hated to admit it because 2-D seldom made trouble, but his random spurts of odd behaviour had come to a head. He was understandably nervous, being filmed performing a fairly athletic roller skating routine, but unusually short of patience. While 2-D had not skated regularly for several years, he had practised hard and should have been more than adequate to the task. However, every time the crew caught his attention to signal something to him, the distraction overwhelmed him and he clumsily broke the routine during the longest takes.

Unfortunately, 2-D either did not see himself at fault, or simply refused to admit it, and accused the crew of sabotage. Not angrily or haughtily, but with cool matter-of-factness that dared them to contradict him. Those who did soon found that he was more than willing to press the matter until someone broke up the interaction and suggested they simply try another take.

This might not have been so bad if every failed attempt did not make 2-D even more nervous and upset than the one before, prompting further clumsiness and spoiled footage.

The grind was beginning to weigh on everyone. The crew had hit on the brilliant idea of re-shooting both her and Ace's scenes to make 2-D feel less alone, but only so much could be done with such brief cameos. She was confident that her chess match had been adequately captured and Ace had finally tired of the venture, jokingly stabbing his basketball to get out of doing further shoots, much to the consternation of everyone involved. He had been leery of retaliation, but it turned out to be the director's favourite take, so that was all right.

Noodle spotted 2-D, headphones looped around his neck, very quietly and firmly arguing with a cameraman over half a foot shorter than he, looming tall as he very reasonably and _insistently_ made his point. She wandered over to them and tapped 2-D on the shoulder, distracting him long enough to give the crew member an opportunity to escape.

"What do you want, Noodle?" 2-D sulked at her, tired, upset, and willing to spread it around.

"Stop being a dick," she told him frankly, speaking in low tones to avoid drawing attention.

"I'm not..."

"You are being an absolute dick," she insisted. "A complete bastard," she repeated when he glared at her and looked ready to interrupt. "I know you get freaked out when people watch you, okay? I know you're afraid of messing up because people give you grief. I know that fear is making you mess up even more. I know you're scared that someone will hurt you for it and are being pre-emptively aggressive."

2-D sneered at her in utter disgust.

No, not _utter_ disgust, Noodle decided. There was fear underneath it. Always fear. In spite of his confidence in his talents, there was still fear. Fear that he was not good enough for the thing he wanted to make. That he was not good enough for the band. That he would be rejected, abandoned, punished, hated...

"Come sit down," she told him, gesturing toward a bench.

She grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the canteen crew as she passed and gave one to 2-D as she sat down beside him.

"Drink up," she encouraged. "You need to stay hydrated." When he had acquiesced and swallowed several mouthfuls she continued. "What problem are you having with the camera work?"

2-D hemmed a hawed a bit, proof enough that his complaints were not truly legitimate, and then launched himself into a diatribe of poor work and distraction that shattered his focus and caused him to make a fool of himself.

Noodle listened very intently, giving him all her attention. She thought, sometimes, that it was all 2-D really wanted. More than suggestions, more than a blind acceptance of his demands, he wanted his concerns to be heard and validated. And why not? Everyone wanted to be taken seriously.

And yet, as he spoke, he became unfocused, pulling the headphones from around his neck to fiddle with them unconsciously. His complaints drifted away from the technical and into the metaphysical as he tried to explain his vision, failed, and insisted that this was why the album was needed, the music was needed, the video was needed and it had to be _right_. The theme of the video was the director's idea, of course, but it fit so well with his own: a message carried through the purity of music.

He became so wildly and fervently invested in his rant that Noodle was forced to call his name several times to bring him back around.

"This is all very important," she agreed, "but it has nothing to do with the camera work. You won't know how that turns out until we get the shot, so why come down on the cameraman?”

2-D looked at her in confusion.

"It was the scene directors interruptin' me," he told her. "When did I talk to the cameraman?”

"Just... Just now," Noodle said. "When I came to get you."

"Just now?"

2-D only seemed more confused and a little embarrassed. He futzed with the headphones in his hands and tried not to show his distress, but she knew him far too well to be fooled.

"Toochi," she said, soft and low to let him know she understood it was a private thing, "what's the matter?"

"I'm forgettin’ things," he said quietly. "I's like... holes. I remember before an' after, but nothing during. I dun remember sitting down with you."

"What's the last thing you remember?" Noodle said. "Before realizing you were sitting down with me, I mean."

"I dunno," 2-D said, looking somewhat anguished. "I was skatin' an' got distracted an' fell an'... talked to the scene directors? An' then you were callin' my name. Ace said..."

"Ace knows?" Noodle eyed him incredulously. "You told _Ace_ and not _me_?"

"I din't want to," 2-D insisted, "but I said he din't need to call me 'Boss' like he does and he said I tried to hurt him when he din't an' I told him and he said I ought to tell you and Russel, but i's hard. I's not something you just say if it dun come up, but now you said I done things I dun remember, so it has an' I've told you. I'm scared," he finished and the look in his eyes hurt her heart. "I din't want to bother anyone with it, but I'm scared."

Noodle cupped the side of 2-D's face with her hand and stroked his cheek with her thumb. She hardly knew what to think, but believed everything that 2-D said. It was almost impossible for him to hide how he felt. When he tried, it was behind a curtain of cocky self-assurance, which might be enough to fool the crowds, but never her.

"I'll talk to Russel for you, all right?" she told him and he nodded, more than willing to pass off this particular responsibility. "I'll tell him after the shoot and then we can both talk to you and see what we want to do about it. But first, we need to get this video done."

"They keep interruptin' me..."

"They're trying to give you stage directions," Noodle said reasonably, "but that's obviously not working this time. Tell you what. You go and practise your routine. Just skate through it two or three times with no one paying attention. Get a feel for it again after being interrupted so many times. I'll talk to the director and the crew and convince them to be a bit more flexible with the video."

2-D's distress increased and he looked about to argue, but Noodle cut him off.

"It has to be right, I know," she said. "But it will be more right if you're relaxed and look like you're enjoying yourself than if it's tightly scripted and you're all wound up, don't you think?"

"I s'pose..."

"So go to it and I'll take care of everything," Noodle said, brushing his hair back with her fingers. "Don't worry."

He went and she did, sharing her thoughts first with Russel, and then with the director and his team.

Russel said nothing, but the subtle looks he shared with her told her he already suspected something was up. The knowledge that 2-D had holes in his memory only sharpened his expression, made him more vigilant.

She did not share 2-D's lapses with the director, only told him he was chasing the wrong rabbit. While 2-D might take direction well enough on stage, in something so fluid and instinctive as skating, he was the one who needed to lead. She suggested setting cameras up strategically to catch him in action, rather than telling him where he ought to go.

He argued a little and Noodle agreed that he was the expert, but that she knew 2-D better than he. After watching 2-D sail by during his "practise" with increasing confidence and flair, the director finally agreed and Noodle flagged 2-D down to tell him they were experiencing "technical difficulties" and to please keep practising, ignoring any cameras he might find along the way. The crew would be setting up shots, testing depths of field, and other such things, nothing more.

It worked like a charm. 2-D, lost in a haze of music and sheer enjoyment, glided through his routine without a single misstep, even enhancing it with the odd flourish. He incorporated most of the unobtrusive directorial cues thrown his way as well, picking up interactions from memory, never flinching, and the few he missed were brushed off with the assurance that they could be inserted from earlier footage. It was far more important to capture 2-D's skating in its current, joyful, carefree form.

After the third circuit, the director declared the filming complete but for the final scene, and Noodle signalled to 2-D that he should wrap up his routine as practised, with Russel. This required that Russel trip 2-D – a symbolic return to the real world – and she had worried about that scene until 2-D assured her he knew how to take a fall and proven it to her.

That had been earlier in the day. Noodle could not tell whether 2-D had missed her signal – although he varied his routine to end it correctly – or was no longer in the groove, but when Russel tripped him, he went flying, falling harder than he had in any of their previous takes and taking longer to recover.

When he finally did, he lost his mind.

"It was scripted, D," Russel reminded 2-D, fending him off as he shouted angrily and prodded Russel in the chest. "It's nothing personal. It's in the script. You know it's in the script. Dial it the fuck back."

"I did it right! I did! Why would you do this?" 2-D hissed at him, eyes bright with anger. He pulled off his headphones and tossed them aside as though ready to pick a fight.

"What's wrong?" Noodle said. "Toochi? I gave you the sign to do the last scene. Didn't you get it?"

2-D did not seem to hear her, his anger focused entirely on Russel.

"Don't do this here, man," Russel said, trying to remain calm, but obviously on his last nerve. "Don't lose your fucking shit here. No one needs it. I don't need it. The film crew doesn't need it. Not even you need it."

"I could feel it! I could hear it!" 2-D insisted, his breath coming in deeply drawn gasps. "I... I..."

"You don't need that either," Russel said, waving Noodle away when she spread her hands questioningly. "You don't need the thing telling you all that. You just need to finish the video, aight? Just the video and it'll be fine. Noodle, you wanna check with the director and see if we have enough?"

"We didn't do the end bit," Noodle told him, more concerned with 2-D's sudden outburst. "What's wrong with him? Why doesn't he see me?"

"Just check, please. I got this," Russel insisted.

She checked and the director admitted they had enough. If they cut out right after 2-D's fall – which he seemed to think was rather spectacular and one of the best shots in the video – they could splice in end shots filmed a little bit earlier. The light quality was more or less the same and would make no difference.

By the time Noodle ran back to report to Russel, 2-D had calmed enough to greet her although he appeared to be in terrible distress.

"We're just havin' a little chat," Russel told her when she reported the state of the video and asked if everything was all right. "You hear that, D? They got all the footage they need. It's all good. You did great."

"I dun remember doin' great," 2-D said sadly. "I remember startin' to skate an' it was nice. It was fun, no worryin' about cameras, an' then I hit the ground an' it hurt, an' then you were yellin' at me. I dun remember 'great' at all."

"It's all right, Toochi," she said, hugging him. He was even taller on skates than he was normally. He stroked her hair, a gesture comforting to both of them.

"That's something we'll sort out later," Russel agreed. "For now, we've got everything we need for the video and we all deserve to go out."

"I dun wanna go out," 2-D said. "I'm tired."

"Then we'll stay in. Get take out."

2-D only shook his head.

"I'm really tired. I wanna lie down. I dun feel so good no more."

Russel looked as though he were about to insist, but Noodle shook her head to quiet him. She knew 2-D well enough to know he would be miserable if he went out now or was forced to interact. Some things needed to pass. She would insist they check in on him regularly – she might even sit with him a while – but, for now, if he preferred to lie down, she felt they ought to let him.

"So... what? We just standin' around for the rest of the day?" Ace said, ambling up to meet them and providing a neat excuse to cut the argument short.

"Video's good, we're going home," Noodle told him. "We're getting take out on the way. Anything you like? I'm up for Thai myself."

"Who do I have to shank to get some barbeque around here?" Ace replied, hands spread.

"We'll hit up a couple of places," Russel said. "Get everyone something they want. For now or for later," he added when 2-D looked ready to argue. "Also some local craft. We need to celebrate."

Noodle cheered alongside Ace, but the look on 2-D's face worried her. Russel knew something, that much she could tell, but how much he knew remained a mystery. She would have to suss it out of him at the earliest opportunity.

Until then, she felt it best if they all returned home. It had been a stressful sort of day.


	9. Russel

"Whassat?" 2-D said, head cocked toward the box on the table, one hand on the handle of the refrigerator.

"A gift," Russel told him.

2-D seemed in a fairly good mood, which was to say his mood was neutral and a vast improvement over the angry sulk he had been in for the past couple of days. They were still in Venice Beach at Russel's insistence – his argument being that the band needed a short holiday – and 2-D was not amused. He wanted his hand on the throttle of the new album, even though the final stages of both the music and the video were the province of others. He vaguely blamed Russel, although he had been outvoted three-to-one, and skulked around their rented house, wearing headphones to justify ignoring his bandmates.

Currently they rested on his shoulders, looped around his neck.

"Gift for what?" 2-D said.

"Just a gift," Russel told him. "From the band. For being such a great team leader."

This seemed to bolster 2-D's spirits a little and he approached the table, curious as to what kind of gift the band might give him.

Russel watched as 2-D reached out cautiously and lifted the lid, finally flipping it open to take a better look at the item inside.

It was a cheesecake.

A very lovely cheesecake, by all accounts, although Russel preferred savoury foods himself. It had taken an afternoon of serious research to find a shop that baked the sort of dense, New York-style cheesecake that he wanted. The one he had finally purchased, a chocolate-vanilla swirl made with mascarpone, was rumoured to be one of the best the shop had to offer.

"I's a cheesecake," 2-D said, ever the champion of the obvious.

"Yeah, well," Russel shrugged. "You like sweet things, right? This one's supposed to be real good. Fattening, but we figured that wouldn't be an issue for you. Honestly, the way you been working, it wouldn't hurt you to eat something calorie-dense once in a while."

Would not hurt and would be a vast improvement, Russel felt. In his obsession with recording, 2-D had lost some weight over the course of the album. Not a lot, but enough to hollow his cheeks and define his ribs, and that was more than enough. 2-D did not have a lot of weight to lose.

"I can't eat a cheesecake," 2-D told him, but Russel did not miss the subtle licking of his lips.

"Not all at once," Russel agreed. "I mean, unless you want to. It's your cheesecake. You can cram the whole thing in your mouth if that's what revs your engine or you can eat it a slice at a time. Hell, you can share it out if you want. It's yours. Do whatever."

"Would you... um..." 2-D began hesitantly. "Would you have a piece of cheesecake with me?"

"I guess I could," Russel said, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean, it's yours, so if you're offering…”

"I am," 2-D told him, focused almost entirely on the dessert.

"Then sure, I'd have some," Russel said, taking out a knife he had put by for the occasion. "Just a small piece though. I'm not one for sugar like you are. I prefer salty snacks. Why don't you do the cutting while I get some plates?”

2-D nodded and did the honours. He tried to be generous with both slices, but Russel convinced him to cut one down to a sliver.

"Are you sure?" 2-D said, serving him the thin slice, even as he kept an eye on his own plate.

"Absolutely," Russel told him, taking a bite of the dessert. "I told you. I'm not a sweets kinda guy."

True enough, as things went, but Russel also wanted the bulk of the cheesecake free for his experiment. He watched as 2-D devoured his dessert, trying hard not to wolf it down in spite of his obvious desire.

Russel thought this a good thing. Cheesecake was not the healthiest meal, but if it got 2-D to sit down and eat, it was good enough.

It also served a second purpose.

"Don't wait on me," Russel said when 2-D came to the end of his slice and eyed the cheesecake longingly. "You've already served me and I've eaten. It won't be rude if you have more and I don't."

"Oh. A'right," 2-D said, cutting another slice. "I din't want to spoil supper, you know?"

"So what if you do?" Russel challenged. “You’re an adult. We’re on holiday. Spoil whatever you want. What did you think of the director's cut of the video?"

Album work was a safe topic. 2-D had Opinions that he was happy to share as long as Russel would listen, which he did, feigning absolute interest while keeping one eye on 2-D himself: the light in his eyes, the expression on his face, and the way his hands roved, pushing aside his plate, and then the knife, and finally picking up his fork and culling chunks directly from the cheesecake itself. The more 2-D talked, the more caught up in his own visions he became, and the more eagerly he cut away forkfuls of dessert.

If there was anything that captured 2-D's interest more than his work on the current album, it was sweet things. Regardless of where the band lived, such treats never kept for long and anyone looking to safeguard their sugar resorted to keeping a stash in their room. Although infrequent, it was not unusual for 2-D to mindlessly return for whatever pastries were in the kitchen or work his way through bags of candy until he gave himself a stomachache.

It was _very_ unusual for him to give up on utensils altogether and start cramming cheesecake into his mouth by the handful.

Russel watched as 2-D devoured the rest of the dessert, and then quietly stood, wet a cloth, and returned to where 2-D loomed over the table, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

"Better?" he said, meeting 2-D's blank-eyed stare. It bore through him, as if seeing something in the middle distance, and then refocused, noticing him for the first time.

2-D’s lips peeled back in a snarl.

“You got nothin’ left to protect, man,” Russel told him as 2-D, or at least something inside 2-D, hunched up aggressively, ready to pick a fight.

Fortunately, anger was difficult on a full stomach.

“You’ve got nothing left to protect,” Russel repeated, “and you’ll be too damned sluggish to fight me, so you might as well sit down a moment.”

2-D resentfully complied, collapsing back into his chair.

“Now, you’ve got chocolate all over your face and I’ve got a nice, damp towel," Russel told him, approaching cautiously to wipe a smear of cheesecake from where 2-D’s hand had brushed against his cheek. 2-D did not react, but tracked him from beneath the film of his hyphema. When he had finished, Russel pushed the cloth into 2-D’s hands so he could finish the task. "Why don't you clean up a bit?"

2-D toyed with the towel, managing to clean his hands by instinct more than conscious effort although the action seemed to calm him somewhat. While he was distracted, Russel carefully removed the headphones from around his neck, murmuring reassurances.

"I'mma put these aside so they don't get messed up, aight?" he said, putting the headphones on the table. Sensing that 2-D was unlikely to get any more done with the cloth, he wheedled it away and tossed it at the sink. "You all right there, D?" he added when 2-D pressed his freed hands to his belly.

"Mmm," 2-D murmured, looking lost and vaguely pained.

"Well, something in you needed that as much as you did," Russel said, gently grasping 2-D's jaw, turning and tilting his head to check the subtleties of his expression, the light in his eyes. "Needed a little gluttony anyway."

"Din't we have a cake?" 2-D said, looking up at him, his expression open and dreamy.

"We did," Russel agreed. "Now we don't. You're probably feelin' kinda full right now—“

2-D belched loudly, which seemed to startle him back to himself.

"Um..." he said.

"Okay, a lot full," Russel amended. "You gonna be sick?"

2-D contemplated the question, and then burped a second time, which seemed to decide him.

"No," he said carefully, shaking his head, “but I dun feel good. I wanna lie down."

"I imagine so," Russel agreed. "Come on. I'll go with you. Get you settled in."

"I din't mean to eat it," 2-D said as Russel helped him back onto his feet and steered him out of the kitchen. He sounded confused. "I dun _remember_ eatin' it. I feel like I ought to, but dun remember doin’ it.“

"I know, D. That's fine. Noodle told me you'd been having problems." Russel patted his back reassuringly. “I’ve heard of things like this before and I might be able to stop it happening, but first you need a nice rest. Sound good?"

"No," 2-D said, looking miserable, "but I think I need to.”

"A full belly will do that," Russel told him, leading him to his room. "You wanna change into something more comfortable or you gonna lie down in your jeans?"

2-D considered this a while, hands pressed to his abdomen.

"Um. I'll change," he said.

"Figured," Russel said. "You do that and I'll be right back, okay?"

2-D nodded and Russel left him there, returning to the kitchen to get a large glass of water. 2-D might not drink it now, but he would need it eventually, whether for digestion or taking a few pills, and it could be left at his bedside. Russel suspected it would be best if 2-D did not get up more often than necessary for the next little while.

Which was why he sighed as he turned around to find 2-D in nothing but pyjama bottoms standing dazedly in the doorway.

"D, you're supposed to have a lie-down, remember?"

"Can't," 2-D told him, casting about the kitchen, eyes lighting when he spotted his headphones. "I need music. Can't sleep without music."

"You can," Russel told him, heading him off before he could step toward the kitchen table.

"Can't. I's lonely. I need music."

"You don't," Russel insisted, taking 2-D's elbow and turning him back towards the bedroom. "Every time you wear those things you get wired and you're up all night. You need to rest. I'll sit with you," he added when 2-D looked unconvinced. "I'll sit right with you until you sleep. How's that?"

“I want music!” 2-D said, his voice just shy of a snarl.

“We got radios,” Russel informed him, bracing himself for round two with whatever it was that wanted 2-D to lose his cool so badly. “You’ve been too damned excitable lately and not getting enough sleep. It’s bad for your health.”

"Why do you care?"

The question was unexpected, but deadly serious. 2-D's expression wavered, cycling through disgust, rage, and despair, on the verge of tears regardless of the outcome.

"Why shouldn't I care?" Russel told him, keeping his voice level, doing his best to divert 2-D’s build-up toward an emotional outburst. "You're my bandmate. A friend."

"You want something," 2-D challenged him. "You dun pay attention 'less I'm doin' something you want."

"I want you to get better," Russel told him, reminding himself that it was not entirely 2-D talking.

Not entirely 2-D, but 2-D none the less. In a certain light – one filtered through a history of ridicule, disrespect, and outright abuse – his comment was not off the mark. As much as he liked 2-D, Russel did not pay him much mind until he wanted to. He was orderly about his work and had difficulty dealing with 2-D’s intuitiveness unless he could impose some structure upon it. He had convinced himself that he was imagining 2-D’s strange lapses because 2-D was easier to work with when lost in his own emotions.

That, yes, but Russel had also thought it was part of his own ingrained paranoia. 2-D’s strange lapses were not so far off his regular behaviour that they could not be attributed to outside sources. His references to being told to do certain things, act in certain ways, and work himself into the ground were not so different from his natural tendency to anthropomorphize the world around him. If not for 2-D’s memory lapses during moments of emotional intensity, Russel would not have even thought to look closer and catch the alien light in his eyes.

“D, I know I’m not always the most patient guy,” Russel said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do. And you know I do. It’s the whispers in your head telling you different and it’s not always easy to tell where you end and they start. Believe me, I know.”

Reaching the bedroom, Russel gestured for 2-D to sit down on the bed. 2-D hesitated before doing so, brow furrowed and jaw tight as he side-eyed Russel, who eased down beside him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, kneading the base of his neck with his thumb.

In spite of his attempts to goad Russel into a fight, 2-D began to relax. The soothing massage and weight in his stomach left little room for anger.

“What’s wrong with me?” he lamented, burgeoning anger dissolving into fear.

“I want to look into it a bit more,” Russel told him, “but I’m gonna go ahead and guess you've got some kind of paranormal hitchhiker.”

“I don’t drive,” 2-D said.

Russel sighed and chastised himself when 2-D winced.

“Oh. You mean something _in_ me.” 2-D looked relieved in spite of Russel’s insult. “You think something in me is making me do things I dun wanna do?”

“Not exactly,” Russel said. “I think you might be doing things you’d do anyway, like eating cheesecake, but it’s turning off the switches that tell you when to stop. Or the ones that tell you not to do a thing, like getting aggressive over petty stuff just because you’re frustrated. Energy, especially emotional energy, is like food to it. I’m not sure where you picked it up – probably in that damned house – but we’ll take care of it. Make sure you stop forgetting things the way you are. But first you need to sleep, aight? Your body needs rest if you’re gonna tackle this head on. That cool with you?"

The insistence that he sleep sparked something in 2-D and Russel could tell that 2-D still wanted to push back, to pick a fight. What he could not tell was how much of that was actually 2-D and how much of it was something that wanted to eat his rage and wallow in the intensity of his emotions.

Fortunately, 2-D seemed to sense it now too and drew a shaky line in the sand.

“A’right,” he murmured, resentful but resigned. “I’ll have a lie-down first.”

"Good man," Russel told him, patting his shoulder and helping him settle in. "You lie nice and quiet and I'll sit with you. Quiet's the best thing for you right now. When you wake up, we'll talk. You, me, and Noodle. We'll figure something out."

"All I wanted…” 2-D began, but trailed off, staring at the ceiling.

All he wanted was to be happy for a change, Russel thought. All he wanted was to make a damned album he could be proud of.

Russel shifted his position closer to the head of the bed so he could run his hand through 2-D’s hair and scratch his scalp a little. 2-D closed his eyes and sighed, blissful as a stroked cat. There was no telling how much of that quiet joy 2-D would remember when he woke, but it would do for the moment. It would relax him and help him sleep. Right now, food and sleep were strength.

Russel withdrew his hand when he felt 2-D drop off, waited a while longer for the deep breathing that signalled true sleep, and then went to find Noodle.


	10. Ace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional notes:** Although this story is rated "T", this chapter includes blatant sexually-themed banter.

"It's what now?"

Noodle sighed, sounding exasperated, which annoyed Ace to no end. Based on past experience, he could safely say he was not a complete idiot regardless of how simple his questions might be. Noodle seemed to expect a level of supernatural knowledge from the world that Ace was fairly certain it did not have.

And he was from Townsville.

"A... psychic parasite of some kind," Noodle repeated. "Russel could tell you more about it. He's the resident professional."

"Okay," Ace said. "And you said it does what?"

"Feeds off psychic energy," Noodle said. "Specifically intense emotions. So, anger, joy... maybe fear if it's active enough. Like, if adrenaline prompts you to take action, although my guess is that it would try to channel that into rage instead."

"Great, great," Ace said, "but what does it do to the _host_?"

"Nothing, really. Nothing you can point at and say, 'Look! Here's proof!'," Noodle told him. "Other than the forgetting, and that's not really proof of anything specific. I wouldn't have thought of it if Russel didn't seem so certain."

Ace swore internally. He liked Noodle – he liked the band in general in spite of not really connecting with Russel and being wary of 2-D – but getting information out of anyone was like pulling teeth. It was nothing like the old gang. Not for him at any rate. He did not know how much the rest of the band depended upon one another, but it was becoming quite obvious that he was locked out of their circle.

"What does Russel _think_ it does?” he pressed, giving it one last shot.

"Just... rides the host," Noodle said. "It doesn't change the host in any way, just feeds on their emotions and energy. Kind of takes over if a strong emotion comes along, suppressing inhibitions to make it last longer or become more intense. He thinks that's why 2-D's so desperate to work himself so hard. He enjoys working on the album, so turning off those bits of him that tell him to sleep and eat and just... do something else for a while gives the thing a nice, steady diet."

"And the memory gaps?" Ace prompted, unwilling to let the meagre flow of information dry up.

"Russel thinks that's what happens when 2-D feels strongly," Noodle said. "The parasite kind of… rises up, blocks all the bits of him that know when to stop, and takes in the whole flow of it. So 2-D remembers the beginning of the feeling, but not how far it went until it wears off or something else snaps him out of it. Like the kitchen. He would probably remember being angry that you snatched his headphones. Since you're new, he would probably be worried about you taking over like Murdoc did. He would _want_ to let you know he was upset and exert his authority. He would _not_ usually throw you into the refrigerator or threaten to break your nose to do it."

"Usually?" Ace said, not finding the explanation as reassuring as Noodle meant it to be.

"He wouldn't," Noodle insisted, exhibiting all the distress of someone who did not want to say what needed to be said. "Wouldn't doesn't mean wouldn't like to. Something that's been done to you often enough becomes a way of doing things, even if you know it shouldn't be done. He might have thought it. He wouldn't have done it. You know?"

"Sure," Ace said and supposed he did. Most people suppressed the urge to do the antisocial things they would really like to do. That did not make this particular urge – or the fact that it might have been done to 2-D often enough to become a viable option – less disconcerting. "What about the headphones?"

Noodle looked confused. "What about them?"

"His really strong outbursts – Hell, his entire working himself into the ground thing – all centre around him wearing or being near headphones," Ace said. "What about that?"

"I... I don't know," Noodle said.

 

 

"They're conductors by association."

"They're what now?"

Russel sighed. Ace thought he had just about had enough of band members sighing in his vicinity.

"What does D do with his headphones?” Russel prompted, sounding vaguely impatient. "He wears them while he's working, when he's listening to music, when he's doing things he enjoys. He's got talent. He knows what he's doing. He likes music. He wears them when he's feeling confident, secure, and happy. This thing promotes those feelings, feeds on them. It will make him feel _more_ confident, _more_ secure, and happier every chance it gets. Objects carry emotional weight. It gets fused into them until having them around triggers those feelings."

"Like a security blanket," Ace said.

"Yeah," Russel agreed, mildly impressed. "You need it mentally, not physically, and get really bent out of shape if you can't have access to it."

Ace nodded. He could understand that. He felt more secure with certain objects in his possession. He could get by without them, but he felt better when they were nearby.

"So what are you doing about it?" he said.

Russel shrugged, hands spread, inviting him to elaborate.

"2-D," Ace said. "What are you doing for him?"

"Making him an unviable host," Russel replied cautiously. "Keeping him quiet, suppressing strong emotions, keeping him fed so his body has energy to reject this thing. If there's nothing to feed on, the thing will go away."

"And how're you goin' about this?" Ace pressed. "I don't know him as well as you do, but the Boss-man's a pretty expressive guy. You can't just tie him down and call it good."

Russel eyed him suspiciously and Ace endeavoured to look as innocently interested as possible.

"He's been in a few accidents," Russel said. "He's permanently hooked on heavy painkillers. I tweaked the dosage to make him drowsy. When he's not sleeping, Noodle or I sit with him and just keep talking him down."

"You're not worried that'll just up his tolerance?" Ace said.

“Yeah, but what do you want us to do?" The edge of anger Ace sensed just beyond Russel's tone began to surface in his voice. "You want us to just let him go on? He agreed to it, if that's what's stressing you out. Doesn't want to black out and do something he might regret."

"I thought you might go about it more efficiently is all," Ace told him.

"And how's that?"

"Don't know, but we could find someone with more expertise than you." Ace glared Russel down. "I'm a guy who knows guys. Maybe I could find something for you."

"What you can do is stay out of it."

"You know," Ace said, suppressing the urge to bolt from the thunderclouds gathering in Russel's expression, "I have serious concerns about your feelings for your bandmates when you won't go outside to get them help. Hell, you didn't even _tell_ me about it, and I'm in the damned band."

"No offence, but you're new here, man," Russel said, his tone a hair's breadth from outright aggressiveness. "I've known Noodle and 2-D for, like, twenty years. I met you once or twice, but I don't know shit about you. I'm not going to trust you to understand something I've had to deal with all my life. D's not the easiest guy to interpret when you ask him what he's going through, but I've done my stint with unnatural shit and I know what brain invaders do. Keeping 2-D quiet will starve the thing that's in him. If it can't feed, it will go back to where it came from."

"Where's that?" Ace said.

"Wherever psychic energy creatures go," Russel told him. “Another phase, another plane of existence… Maybe the Grim Reaper will come for it. Now, if you don't mind, I have a friend to tend to.”

 

 

"Ace! What're you up to, man? I heard you're playing with a big name band these days. You gonna get me autographs?"

"Hey, Arturo." Ace half-grinned. Arturo's overblown enthusiasm never failed to lift his spirits. "I could ask, but I dunno. They don't seem too fond of me."

"They're blind, Ace! Blind! You can do that shit, I know you can!"

"Oh, they like my shit, they're just not too sure about _me_.”

"What? Even the girlie in the short-shorts?"

"Noodle likes hangin’ out, but she's not too big on sharing secrets and this band's got a few."

"Aw, man... Tell me it ain't that Murdoc guy! That guy's a pain in the ass. Brings in some business, but you almost got to pay a guy to get money outta him and you're lucky to break even."

"No, not Murdoc," Ace said, focusing on an echo in the background. "You on speaker, Arturo?”

"Ehh..."

"You know I hate that, Arturo. Hate it."

"No one can hear, Ace! I swear! It's just Frank, man! You know Frank!"

A second voice edged its way into the conversation.

"Hey, Ace!"

"Hey, Francisco." Ace affected a weary tone, but could not help grinning.

"Ready to daisy-chain whenever you are."

"Not my thing, Francisco."

"No problem, man! Some people are kinda one-on-one. I can watch."

"Still not my thing," Ace insisted.

"Come on, man. You know he likes 'em tall."

"Yeah, I know. You should meet the boss. He's got an inch on me."

"You fuckin' kidding me? That fucker with the blue hair? Pretty face, legs a week long?"

"The very same."

"Holy shit, man. He swing? Can you hook us up?"

"I don't know about that, Francisco, but I'll ask," Ace promised. "In the meantime, I gotta talk to Arturo in private. Business."

"Oh... Well... _Business_..." Frank said, affecting an air of disgust. "I guess I can let you go, but promise you'll come around next time you pass by."

"You know I will."

"No, I don't, but I'll take that as your word."

Ace considered replying, when the echo of the speakers dropped away and Arturo returned to the receiver.

"Don't mind Frank, man. You know Frank," Arturo said.

"Yeah, I know Frank," Ace told him. "It's cool."

"So what you need? Something for a good night? A cool down? Heat things up a little?"

Ace debated leading Arturo into things gradually and then tossed the thought clear out the window.

"Exorcism," he said.

Arturo whistled long and low.

"You fuckin' kiddin' me? You want me to find you something for an exorcism? What kinda movies you been watchin', Ace?"

"No movies," Ace insisted and outlined the situation as best he could without naming names.

Arturo was quiet for several seconds, uttered the sigh of someone deep in thought, and then fell quiet for several seconds more. Ace began to wonder if he had wandered off when he uttered a second sigh and replied.

"That's a tall order, man. I don't know if I can get anything for that."

"If you can't, no one can, Arturo."

"I mean, you wanna keep someone that calm, that down, you need to suppress all kinds'a stuff. Practically stasis."

"You're the guy who knows how to find the guys that do that," Ace reminded him. "Oh, and there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"The guy that's gotta take it is a long-term opioid user. Chronic pain."

"Aw, man!" Arturo exclaimed loudly enough for Ace to pull the phone away from his ear. "Why you gotta make it hard for me, Ace? Santa Maria! Swear to God! Every fucking time!"

"Sorry."

"You ain't sorry for shit," Arturo replied, sounding unconcerned. "If you were sorry, you wouldn't make it hard, like, every damned time."

"You like it hard, Arturo," Ace told him, grinning, knowing Arturo would hear the expression on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, I like it hard, but you're the wrong kind of hard, Ace," Arturo told him. "You make promises and don't deliver."

"No, but you do," Ace said. "I need it as soon as possible."

"Of course you do. Where you at?"

"Venice Beach. Another week, I think."

"Fuck off! Venice Beach," Arturo snorted. "I should be so lucky. I dunno if I can get this to you in time. If I can get it at all..."

"There's always Billy."

“You forget? He runs a legit service."

"I know, that's the best part. No snooping, no questions, no knowledge, no track back," Ace said, “and he’ll get anything from point A to point B and all points in between. Don't lean on him if you don't need to," he added when Arturo sounded uncertain, "but he's there if you need him."

"Let me look around a bit and see if I can get you what you need," Arturo said. "I don't even know if it's possible. I'll give you a call in a day or two, let you know what I got or don't got. We can talk prices, extensions, and delivery then."

"Sounds good," Ace said. "I knew I could count on you."

"I haven't come through for you yet," Arturo reminded him.

"You will," Ace assured him. "And even if you don't, you were there and you tried. That's all I'm askin'."

"I know. Thanks, man," Arturo said. "Hey, you mind if I put you back on speaker? Frank wants to say 'bye."

"Yeah, sure. Put Frank on," Ace said just as Arturo switched over.

"Hey! You called me 'Frank'!" Frank said as the echo returned to the reception. "I knew you cared."

"I call you 'Frank' all the time, just not to your face," Ace told him. "You get too excited, man."

"What's not to be excited about? You're a big name star! Get us some fuckin' autographs. And your boss's number."

"I can get maybe one of two," Ace said, "but I gotta jet. Later, Francisco."

Frank snorted. "Back to this shit again! Fine. Later, Ace!"

"See ya, Ace," Arturo cut in. "Call back sometime when you're not making life hard."

"Will do," Ace said and ended the call.

The only thing left to do was wait.


	11. Ace

Russel and Noodle were protective of 2-D's bedroom door. However, the balcony ran all the way around the upper floor of the building with only occasional dividers for privacy. Climbing one and swinging around the outside to reach the next section of balcony was a minor risk, but Ace was far more agile than most people gave him credit for.

His intention was to sneak into 2-D's room from the outside, but his plans proved unnecessary. He found 2-D, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, sitting on the balcony floor, tucked into a corner not immediately visible from the bedroom or the ground.

"Uh... Hi, Boss," Ace said when 2-D blinked at him in surprise.

"Are you an acrobat?" 2-D cocked his head, unfocused and half-asleep.

Ace shrugged. "Nah, just... You know. I've needed to get away from people in a hurry sometimes. Always good to have a few tricks up your sleeve."

"You could be a cat burglar."

“Absolutely,” Ace agreed, ignoring all the times he had been, “but that's not why I'm here."

He plunked himself down beside 2-D, who watched him with glassy interest, eyes at half-mast.

"You oughtn't sit so close," 2-D said, enunciating his words slowly and clearly, giving them an artificial weight. "I might do something I forget."

"I know," Ace told him. "I'm not worried. You sound a little dozy. Did Russel just give you your medicine?"

It was a valid concern, and not only with respect to 2-D's behaviour. If Russel had already half-drugged the band's singer, Ace would have to abort his mission.

2-D thought about this a moment, and then shook his head.

"No," he said. "I just woke up. I think, maybe, something woke me up, so I'm still sleepy. I din't like being in bed. I'm always in bed. I wanna sit inna sun. I guess Russ'll come soon an' make me take more pills. Not too soon, I hope. I just wanna be warm inna sun for a bit."

"I thought you needed your pills," Ace said.

"I do, but I can take 'em," 2-D told him, a hint of resentment and despair creeping into his voice. "If I do it right, I dun feel sore all’a time, but I dun sleep all’a time neither. Russ changed how much I take. He used to make me let him give me pills all’a time 'cause I always took too much. Now I dun wanna take so much and he says I gotta.”

"Why's he making you take so many?" Ace prompted, untwisting a plastic bag from around his wrist where he had secured it to make his daring balcony crossing.

"Oh, um," 2-D began, watching what Ace was up to with drowsy interest. "Russ says I'm haunted. Um... Kinda. Like, I have a... um... 'psychic parasite'." He paused as though making sure he had spoken correctly, nodded once in satisfaction, and pressed on. "He says it feeds on psychic energy, so... the things I feel when I have feelings. I dun notice when the feelings aren't too strong, but when they are, I... Oh. Oh, no. I–I can't have that."

Ace regarded the stick of ice cream he held in his hand. It seemed innocuous enough to him.

"Why not?" he said, already suspecting the answer.

“’Cause it's... it's good an' I like ice cream," 2-D told him. "I'd be happy to eat it. Russ says food I like too much would just encourage the thing in my head. Like... Like when I had cheesecake. I would have liked it, but I dun remember having it an' I... I would like to remember having..."

"I think you could remember if you knew enough to fight it," Ace told him. "You didn't then. Now you do. Do you want the ice cream?"

"Yeah," 2-D said, licking his lips.

"Enough to rip it out'a my hand?" Ace pressed, keeping a firm grip on the stick.

" _Yes._ "

The word fell only just short of a hiss. Ace could almost see the war between politeness and greed waging in 2-D's eyes. It seemed Russel was on to something and not merely blowing smoke out his ass for Ace's benefit.

It was all Ace needed to know. He was satisfied that his deal with Arturo was not for nothing. More importantly, it justified his plan, which was a hair too dangerous to pursue without definite proof.

"So don't," he told 2-D, who looked startled and somewhat shamed. "You can fight this thing. At least long enough for ice cream. Don't snatch it and eat it slowly. Make it settle for regular enjoyment. Tell it who's boss, Boss."

The acknowledgement of his authority bolstered 2-D, who took the frozen treat from him cautiously and unwrapped it with excessive care. He placed the end in his mouth, let it sit there a moment, melting, and then removed it with great effort, licking ice cream from his lips.

"I's... I's so good," 2-D said, nestling into his blanket with quiet joy. "I dunno if I can do this all’a time, but the ice cream's good."

"Ice cream's always good," Ace agreed, pulling out a second one for himself. "And you might not have to do it all the time. There might be a way to get rid of what's in you."

"That's what Russ said," 2-D told him as he ate his ice cream. "He said we ought to starve it. A's why he wants me sleepy. Sleepy's not a very good feeling for parasites. An' he gives me really plain food like porridge, 'cause i's good for you, but boring. If I like my food too much, it might stay. I guess I cocked that up." He looked dispassionately at his ice cream, and then put it back in his mouth.

"Yeah, well, Russel didn't tell me all that, otherwise I might not have brought you any," Ace said. "Russel doesn't tell me much at all. He might not have even told me you were... Sick? Possessed? Whatever. I wouldn't know at all if Noodle hadn't brought it up. They don't trust me."

2-D's eyes widened in surprise. "Not even Noodle?"

"Not really," Ace said. "A little, but not much. I guess I don't blame 'em. Noodle and I have talked in between the times I've hung out with the band, but not enough to be really close. You've all known each other forever. I'm just some guy you met through... the music scene."

Ace had been about to mention Murdoc, but decided this might not be the best course of action. Until recently, Ace had known Murdoc better than he had known the rest of the band – an association made largely through questionable activities – but he still did not know Murdoc as well as they did. Mentioning Murdoc might affect what trust they did have in him, possibly for the better, more likely for the worse.

"I trust you," 2-D said with a disarmingly open innocence that made Ace want to shake him and ask him what the Hell was wrong with him and how did he make it to forty in the music industry without getting shanked in a back alley.

"Thanks," Ace said instead, reminding himself that 2-D had survived a close association with Murdoc and likely found very little terrifying in comparison. Not to mention 2-D's trust was very important to the next phase of his plan. "I wish Russel was more like you, 'cause I have ways of finding things out and I might have found a way to go about getting rid of your little parasite. The problem is, Russel won't let me do it and he'll break my face if I try without his permission. That's why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"See, what I figure," Ace elaborated, "is that Russel might not want me to be here, but he's not the boss, is he?"

"Not _my_ boss," 2-D agreed, although he looked uncertain.

"No," Ace assured him. “You're the head of this project. If you're going along with Russel it's because he knows more about something than you do and you trust him to do his thing. That's what a good boss does. But Russel doesn't trust me to help and won't tell you about any ideas I have."

"So you want to tell me your ideas and see if I trust them more than Russel's ideas," 2-D said with mild suspicion.

"Well, maybe more than or maybe just as much," Ace corrected. "I mean, you might not like my idea at all and want nothing to do with it or you might think that both our ideas are good and can be done at the same time. That's your choice. My point is that you should have a choice, and if Russel doesn't trust me enough to give it to you, I'll do it myself."

Ace bit the stick of his ice cream and took a moment to fish a small paper envelope from the pocket of his jeans. He shook out two grey capsules into the palm of his hand.

"I don't know what the Hell these are exactly," he admitted, taking his ice cream back and holding the capsules up for 2-D's inspection. "That's not the business I'm in. The business I'm in is knowing guys. Guys I can describe your problem to. Guys who will take those details and get me things like these. I'm told they're 'bio-energy suppressors'. They're supposed to do pretty much what Russel wants you to do on your own: keep you quiet and your emotions low so the parasite will be starved out of you."

"But you dun _know_ they will," 2-D emphasized.

"No," Ace confirmed. "I don't even know exactly how they'll do it. I gather they make you really sleepy. Probably knock you right out. I couldn't get a maximum time on them, but it might be a few days."

"Will they hurt?" 2-D said. "I already got medicine…”

"They won't work against your regular pills or react with them," Ace told him. "I made it clear they couldn't do that. What else they'll do, I can't tell ya. They’re experimental. They could have side effects. The question you gotta ask yourself is whether the chance of getting better is worth the risk of side effects."

"I dunno..."

"You don't have to decide right now," Ace said, slipping the capsules back into their paper envelope. "Finish your ice cream. Think about it. Take a few days if you need to. But if you’re going to take them, you ought to take them when you're coming _off_ the dose Russel gives. They shouldn't react with your regular pills, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. Besides, if you're doped up, you aren't thinking clearly enough to make decisions."

"No," 2-D agreed and added bitterly, "I dun think clearly enough to make decisions most days."

They finished their ice cream in silence and Ace collected the trash in his plastic bag. Under normal circumstances, he would have tossed it off the edge of the balcony, but he did not want to draw any unwanted attention.

"Do you trust the person that gave you the pills?" 2-D said.

"With my life," Ace told him.

"A'right. I'll try 'em."

It was too easy, Ace thought. Entirely too easy. Suspiciously so. No one could possibly be that trusting, that accepting, and yet he knew that 2-D, for all his ideas and the desire to pursue them, easily fell into the role of follower.

"You know I can't just give them to you, right?" Ace said, prompting a look of confusion from 2-D. "Russel will kick my ass if I do."

Ace pulled out his phone and set it to record.

"I need you to make me co-boss," he said, holding up device. "I need you to say it and I need to be able to prove you said it. If you say I'm co-boss and that you trust what I'm doing, Russel won't be able to do a thing to me. Well, he will," Ace recanted, "but at least I'll have grounds for compensation if he does."

"I dunno..." 2-D said, eying the phone suspiciously.

"I'll renounce it once this is over if it makes you feel better," Ace said. And then, "Wait."

He pressed "record”, reversed the image, and spoke clearly:

"This is Ace Copular, offering you, 2-D, two bio-energy suppressors. If you would like to take them, I need you to state that you accept them, and name me the co-leader of this project, proving your trust in me and granting me the authority to act on your behalf in this matter. This authority will be revoked once the matter is settled."

He switched the focus back to 2-D, who stared at the phone – stared _through_ it – unable to come to a decision.

"You can say no if you want to," Ace stressed loudly enough for the mic to pick him up.

"That's what it wants me to do," 2-D said with more rancour than Ace had ever heard from him. "I can _feel_ it. It wants me to say no and I _hate_ it. I want it to go away. I trust you. I want to take your 'bio-energy suppressors'," he paused to make sure he had said the words correctly, and then soldiered on. "You can be co-boss, so Russel can't say no, but only for three days 'cause then they should be done."

2-D looked up at him as though to verify that this was correct and Ace shrugged to remind him that he did not know enough about the pills to know how long they would last. It didn't matter. Three days was long enough for him. The part about Russel being unable to prevent him from doing it was a bonus.

"You want to take them now or later?" Ace said, leaving the phone on a moment longer.

"Now," 2-D confirmed.

"Do you need water?" Ace said, cutting the recording and picking up the envelope.

"I brought a bottle," 2-D told him. "I wanted to sit out here as long as I could."

"Perfect."

Ace shook the capsules into 2-D's trembling hand. For a moment, he thought 2-D would throw them away, but he curled his fingers over them, clutching them in his fist, eyes screwed up tightly as he fought the urge. Ace watched him come to a decision and force them down one at a time with mouthfuls of water. Once this was done, they sat there a while, looking out toward the beach.

"Do they take long?" 2-D said.

"I don't know," Ace admitted, "but it might be a good idea to be lying down, even if you'd rather be out in the sun."

"A'right," 2-D said, pausing to admire the view for a few moments more before attempting to stand.

It was a difficult process, prompting Ace to jump to his feet and help. 2-D's reflexes and equilibrium seemed off-kilter. He stumbled and overbalanced, missing the railing he reached for to steady himself.

"Gotcha, Boss," Ace said to soothe him, looping one of 2-D's arms around his neck in support. "I can hold you up, but you gotta walk."

"I dun feel good," 2-D complained, doing his best to stay upright and shuffle forward.

"Sorry, Boss," Ace said. "It's supposed to make you sleepy, but I guess it makes you queasy too."

“No, not… No,” 2-D mumbled as Ace all but hauled him through the balcony door.

Ace cursed both himself and 2-D for not coming in sooner, _before_ the capsules took effect. But then neither of them had known how long they would take and 2-D had been so calm and peaceful just sitting on the balcony, enjoying the sun.

Enjoying it much more than he was enjoying the effect of the suppressors. As unbalanced as he might be, 2-D was no longer calm _or_ peaceful.

"What... what did you... _do_ to me?" 2-D snarled, mealy-mouthed and stammering, his voice caught between anger and utter terror. He tried to simultaneously shove Ace away and pull him in to tear at him in a furious panic.

Ace did the only thing he could do and stepped away, leaving 2-D to stumble and fall to his knees. He could not imagine what 2-D was feeling. He trusted Arturo with his life, trusted that the capsules would do what he was told they would do, but he had no idea how they worked or how it would feel as they came into effect.

"Nothing," Ace said, fervently hoping it was not a lie. "The suppressors are just gonna put you out."

“No… No…” 2-D insisted, trying to regain his footing and failing.

“Fuck,” Ace breathed as he took a chance and reached out to 2-D, crouching to help and haul him back onto his feet. "Fuck, man. I'm sorry they're making you feel like shit. I'm sorry, okay? Just gimme some help here. You'll be better off in bed. Come on..."

His efforts did little but give 2-D an opportunity to grab his shirt, clutching it tightly, and stare directly into his face, every pore of him radiating terror and betrayal.

"Why...?" 2-D whispered, locking eyes with Ace, fear etched into every feature. He seemed unable or unwilling to force his legs to work, channelling all of his remaining strength into forcing words past lips too numb to form them and gripping Ace's clothing. "Why would you...?"

"2-D?" Noddle said, stepping into the room. "I thought I... Toochi!"

"A little help?" Ace begged her as she crossed the room to drop down beside them, sliding the last inch or so on her knees to catch 2-D from behind. Ace let him fall backwards into Noodle's arms, murmuring and stammering as she hushed him and spoke calming words in a voice so soft and gentle that Ace felt like an intruder in their presence.

"We have... We need to get him into bed," he said.

Noodle ignored him until 2-D stopped murmuring, laying slack and still in her arms. Then she glared at him.

"What did you do?" she growled under her breath.

"Bed first," Ace insisted. "He just... He'll be better off than lying on the ground."

He supposed she saw reason in that because she helped him untangle 2-D from his blanket and carry him to the bed, getting him settled under the sheets. 2-D was surprisingly light for a man his size, but the combination of his height and the dead weight of his unconscious state was too much for a single person to handle.

When 2-D was settled in, Noodle sat on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to the singer's face to check his temperature, two fingers to his neck to check his pulse, and her ear to his lips to check his breathing. Then she stood and turned to Ace.

"Noodle," Ace began, but had no time to finish. In the blink of an eye, she had taken his hand, flipped him onto his back, and rolled him over to pull his arm up tight behind him.

"What. Did. You. _Do_?" she roared over his startled cry of pain.

"Nothing! I swear!" Ace shouted as Noodle pulled his arm tighter.

"I can barely get a pulse," she hissed at him, and he heard her voice catch in the back of her throat. "I can barely feel him breathe. He's turning _cold_ , Ace."

"It's a suppression drug," Ace managed before she leaned on him, causing him to cry out. "For fuck sake, gimme a chance to talk," he wheezed.

"Start talking and make it good," Noodle told him, releasing his arm. "Otherwise I'm going to kick you clear through the wall."

"It's a bio-energy suppressor," he told her, talking fast. "I can't tell you what that means, 'cause I don't know. I'm just the guy who knows the guys who get the stuff that works."

"Why would you--" Noodle began, sounding too much like 2-D for Ace's sensibilities.

"Because you guys don't tell me _shit_ ," he interrupted. “I’d’a run it by you, but Russel's playing high and mighty and you're not much better. I got permission, if that's what's buggin' you--"

"What the Hell is going on here?"

Ace and Noodle both looked up to see Russel looming in the doorway.

"It's a long story..." Ace began.


	12. All Together Now

Ace had made himself scarce after his harebrained explanations and that was fine by Russel. The less he saw of Ace, the less likely he was to pound the bassist into the architecture.

It was not that his explanation lacked merit – Russel had to admit that the description of the bio-energy suppressors was very impressive – it was that he had snuck around behind everyone's back and used an untested substance on a member of the band. He had gotten 2-D's consent, sure enough, but that was unremarkable. A little fast talking would get 2-D to consent to just about anything.

And yet, for all the blame Russel wanted to drop on Ace, he felt as though he were the one who had failed 2-D. He had said he would take care of things and had fully intended to do so, but had refused to entertain the notion that there could be any solution other than the one he dreamed up himself. Russel could not say that Ace had the right idea, but he could have listened to the bassist’s suggestions and looked into the possibility. It could have even been done while 2-D was following his own prescribed remedy. Instead, he had dismissed Ace out of hand, not realizing how desperate 2-D was for a solution.

He was angry with Ace, no doubt about it, but he was even angrier with himself.

"How's 2-D?" Russel asked, stepping into the bedroom.

Noodle looked up at him from the bed. She camped there more often than not, nestled up against the headboard, 2-D’s stalwart protector. She crooned and whispered to him, stroked his hair, and kept the blankets pulled up around him as though they could dispel a cold that radiated from deep inside him.

"Same," she said. "He's alive, but you'd never know it."

Russel had debated calling an ambulance after the suppressors took effect, but Noodle had convinced him otherwise. Running off to gather a thermometer, a pressure cuff, and several implements Russel did not recognize, Noodle took a number of measurements and readings to match against her early childhood training as a military weapon and concluded there was little a common hospital could do for 2-D. He would be better off in the hands of a government research scientist _if_ , and only _if_ , they were comfortable with him becoming a guinea pig for the rest of his life. It would take more sophisticated equipment than they had on hand to say for certain, but she felt he was just shy of a state of suspended animation, having more in common with deep hibernation than sleep.

In other circumstances, Russel might have been impressed. It was an ideal state for the rejection of psychic parasites. However, given that they did not know the source or the nature of the suppressors Ace had acquired, there was no way to tell how long they would last. Furthermore, as 2-D was unresponsive, it was impossible to tell what the suppressors were doing to him, whether there were side effects of which they were unaware, and whether he was truly unconscious or aware and trapped in the prison of his body. Noodle talked and sang to him as much as she could, to soothe him and let him know they were with him, just in case he could hear her.

They were staring day five directly in the face and Russel hoped Ace was getting nervous. He would give the bassist a solid week, and if 2-D did not come around by then…

Russel sighed. For all his annoyance with Ace, he could not forget that Ace had meant well, having no idea how long the stasis would last. He had wanted to help, whatever the result, which was better than Murdoc, who wanted to overpower and damn the consequences. 2-D might have been unconscious for nearly a week, but his body showed no sign of deterioration, starvation, or dehydration, which was a large step up from putting him through two accidents with a coma in between.

“You want me to switch off with you?” he asked Noodle, who shook her head. “You really need time away to recharge, baby girl. It’ll eat you up if you don’t take it.”

“I can’t,” Noodle insisted. “I can’t face him right now. Ace, I mean. He didn’t even fucking _know_ what they were going to do, not really, and he gave 2-D those damned pills anyway.”

“He did say he trusted the guy who gave them to him with his life,” Russel said, wondering why he was playing devil’s advocate, and understanding that it was in his nature to challenge the perceptions of others, even when they matched his own.

Noodle snorted.

“Great,” she said. “Did he tell the person he trusts that his was the life being saved? If they knew someone other than Ace was taking the suppressors, would they still be trustworthy?”

“Good question,” Russel said. “You’ll either have to ask him that or wait to see what happens on your own. Now, go grab something to eat and take a rest. You can come back to him later.”

“I want to be here when he wakes up,” Noodle protested.

“I’ll call you,” Russel assured her. “He’s not gonna come out of something like this all at once.”

“Fine,” Noodle huffed, giving 2-D one last reassuring whisper and easing herself out of the bed as quietly as she was able, not that 2-D was apt to notice one way or the other.

When she had gone, Russel sat down on the edge of the bed.

“If you can hear this, you gotta come back, man,” Russel said, brushing two fingers against the side of 2-D’s face, pale and cold. He let them slide down to rest on 2-D’s neck, just beneath the jawline. No pulse, as far as he could tell, although Noodle insisted it was there. “Noodle’s losing her mind. She… We. We miss you, D. Get your shit together and come back.”

It was a strange thing to admit. In their voluntary separations, Russel could not say he actually _missed_ his bandmates, barring Noodle. But knowing they were out there doing their own thing – however strange a thing that might be – and actually seeing one in a state that was not death but could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be called living were two different things.

He had to admit as well that 2-D had grown on him. He had always liked the kid well enough – and had resigned himself to the knowledge that he would always think of 2-D as a “kid”, at least in comparison to himself – but Russel felt it might be the first time he had a genuine appreciation for 2-D. They had worked together so closely on the album that it had been impossible to miss 2-D’s dedication, hard work, and natural talents, things normally eclipsed by Murdoc’s presence and constant interference. And if 2-D occasionally fetched up with a bit of arrogance and an inflated sense of self-worth, well… What harm was there in letting him have it? It was painfully easy to knock him back down and there was no level of self-aggrandizement he could reach that Murdoc had not surpassed ages ago. 2-D’s tactile nature was a far greater worry, as far as Russel was concerned, but once he had mentally conditioned himself to make allowances and laid down some ground rules regarding personal space, it had not bothered him. It had even been… nice at times. Welcoming and familiar.

“I swear to God, D,” Russel said, “if you come out of this, I’m buying you an entire box of ice cream sandwiches and you can eat every single one of them in front of Ace.”

 

Noodle stared dispassionately into the fridge, willing herself to want to eat.

She knew Russel was right. She knew she needed to eat something, even if she was not hungry. She knew she had to stay hydrated. She knew she needed a break. She knew it was not healthy, physically or mentally, to hole herself up with 2-D non-stop, no matter how worried or frightened she was.

The Hell of it, the absolute Hell of it, was that 2-D was the person who usually helped her deal with worry and fright.

In truth, she had difficulty being worried or frightened or angry in any healthy way. For the day-to-day, there was meditation and mindfulness and all the other prescribed methods of analyzing and processing her feelings, but for the heavy-hitters, the ones that punched all the way down to the visceral fears of her childhood, filled with screaming, frightened children, the ones that woke her in the middle of the night with visions of metal and wires and circuitry… for those there was nothing. Russel was a calming, soothing presence, one that banked the flames of her concerns and brought them down to mere embers, but embers could reignite at a moment’s notice and there were things about which they simply never spoke. They never spoke about them because their speaking was like oil and gasoline, more dangerous than mere flames. Their speaking was a conflagration of angry, paranoid fantasies of war – the covert activities of those who would build a system to drag down the common people and marginalize those without the power to fight back and the overt activities of those who wanted bigger, better, and _smarter_ weapons, making monsters of children.

2-D was rain, sweet and cool.

It was odd, she had to admit, that someone so anxious and distracted could simultaneously be emotionally balanced and aware, but scales, too, could swing. The trick was in knowing when they were out of alignment, the talent in adjusting the weights accordingly.

She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and groaned.

“Ace! Get in here!”

The movement from the corner of her eye did an about-face and slunk into the kitchen, looking wary.

“Are you going to kill me?” Ace said. “’Cause I’m sensing a distinct possibility of not escaping the kitchen intact.”

“You don’t need to be intact to live,” Noodle told him.

“That’s not actually very comforting,” Ace told her, keeping the table between them.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Noodle said, closing the refrigerator door.

She stared Ace down from across the table, and then sighed. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” she assured him. “I’m not even mad at you. Not really. I mean, a little bit. You did give 2-D something dangerous without letting us know about it. But it was his right to take it if he wanted it. He doesn’t… think things through, but he knows what he wants and doesn’t want. So I don’t really blame you, even if I do because I need to blame _someone_ and you’re both convenient and the person who might or might not have cocked up royally.”

“Still not very comforting,” Ace told her.

Noodle sighed again.

“I’m supposed to be getting something to eat,” she told him. Ace was not 2-D, was not even Russel, but he was available and she needed to talk. “To keep me from constantly worrying, I guess.”

“You want me to make you a grilled cheese?” Ace said.

Noodle grinned ruefully. “I wasn’t aware you were into cooking.”

“I’m not, but grilled cheese is dead easy,” Ace told her. “Easiest thing on Earth, as long as you got bread and cheese, maybe some butter. I’m fucking pro at anything you can cook on an overturned can. Best ones are those restaurant-sized ones.” He indicated a circle about a foot in diameter with his hands. “Choice stove top. Cut some vents in that baby, light a fire, and you’re good to go.”

“That… sounds terrible,” Noodle said, taking a seat at the table as Ace dug through cupboards for a pan.

Ace shrugged. “You do what you need to. You want the fancy shit or a Plain Jane?”

“Um… whatever,” Noodle said as Ace rummaged through the refrigerator. “No bacon or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t really do meat anymore.”

“Ey, we got ricotta!” Ace returned, pulling it out. “Also some spinach. Let’s get Sourdough Cannelloni all up in this shit.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Noodle told him, but Ace just winked at her and went about his business. “Do you think he’ll be all right? 2-D, I mean.”

“Gotta say, I don’t really know,” Ace admitted. “I mean, when I got the stuff I’d’ve said yes for sure, but it’s been longer than I thought, so I don’t know anymore. Part of the deal is not knowing the source until I pony up the payment, but I’m told the source is reliable and Arturo wouldn’t play me, so…”

“Arturo?” Noodle said. Although she communicated off and on with Ace and he talked about his former gang now and then, she had only met a couple of the members on a few separate occasions. Arturo had struck her as a slick, used car salesman kind of guy: a fast talker, but one unlikely to have any important connections.

“You need anything pharmaceutical, Arturo can find it,” Ace told her, chopping spinach and mixing it with the ricotta. “I’m not talking low-brow street drugs here ‘cause the man likes a challenge although, between you and me, he’ll move some of those if he needs some extra cash. I’m talking weird-ass fancy shit. Stuff so underground it’s not even illegal ‘cause the FDA don’t know about it yet. Stuff that’s technically illegal, but only ‘cause it’s a generic copy of a wildly overpriced patent and/or heavily controlled. Stuff that’s in limbo ‘cause it’s never been recalled, but it’s been taken off the shelves, or is no longer commercially produced for whatever reason. Stuff that’s all-natural, but the ingredients make the biodiversity watchdogs nervous. Stuff that hasn’t even been invented yet…”

“Like the stuff you gave 2-D,” Noodle said.

“You got it,” Ace said. “I can’t tell you exactly what it is or what it does, but I’ve seen Arturo pull something new out’a nowhere and everyone end up better off in the end, so… as nervous as I might be that you and Russel are waiting to kick my ass, I don’t doubt Arturo’s sources.”

“And what kind of payment do you owe?” Noodle prompted.

“I almost don’t wanna say,” Ace told her, flipping the sandwich in the pan. “Hell, if it were money, I _would_ keep it from you, but it’s not and you’ll find out anyway when this is all over, so… I was prepared for a pretty hefty tag, but Arturo’s only charging six concert tickets with V.I.P. passes and a personal thanks.”

“That’s it?” Noodle said, sceptical.

“Sounds low, I know,” Ace said, “but bear in mind that Arturo moves stuff for business people and charities alike. Finder’s fees keep him afloat and the rest depends on delivery costs and what the source is charging. If he found a sympathetic source, they wouldn’t ask for much, and I never ask about delivery details. Lunch is served.”

Ace slid a plate onto the table in front of her, two slices of nicely grilled sourdough bread oozing a mixture of spinach and ricotta. Noodle cautiously took a bite, pleased to discover it _did_ taste a little like cannelloni in a toasted shell.

“This is really good,” she told Ace as he poured her a glass of iced tea.

“You learn to do stuff when you’re on your own,” he said. “Sometimes you even learn to do stuff for others. I know you and Russel don’t really see me as part of the band,” he added, raising his hand to ward off her protests, “but I like to think I am, however temporary. I watch out for my gang, you know? It’s just good business.”

“I’m sorry,” Noodle said, taking another bite and chewing it thoughtfully. “I think Russel is too. He might even say so.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll avoid crossing paths with him for a while just to be safe,” Ace told her. “Let me know how D’s doin’, all right?”

Noodle nodded and finished her sandwich as Ace tidied up the kitchen.

 

“Shit,” Ace hissed, and then winced when he realized he’d done so out loud. He turned on his heel and thought he might yet escape, but it was not to be.

“You might as well come in,” Russel said from inside the bedroom.

“Ey… I thought I’d sneak in and see how the boss is doin’ since Noodle figured she’d take a nap,” Ace told him, slinking into the bedroom and trying to lean nonchalantly against the wall. He lowered his voice when he realized Noodle was indeed sleeping, stretched out on the bed beside 2-D, her little finger entwined with his in case he should wake while she rested. “She said you were going out.”

“I was,” Russel said, parked in an overstuffed chair. “I came back.”

They shared an uncomfortable silence before Russel added, “You realize your authority immunity is long expired, right?”

“Yeah,” Ace said. “I gathered. I just needed it long enough to get around you. If it’s any consolation, I honestly thought it would be over with by now.”

“It might be, a little,” Russel said, “although you never should have done it in the first place. Still, I figured I’d give it a week to sort itself out before I officially blamed you for fucking up enormously. That’s just about expired too.”

“A week, huh?” Ace grinned. “I guess I’m just about down to the wire. What happens then?”

“I haven’t quite decided,” Russel told him, “but, if it worries you, you’ve still got time to run.”

“I’ll wait it out,” Ace told him. “Believe it or not, it was never about hurting him or getting him out of the picture. I want to see how it works out.”

“Fair enough,” Russel said. “You might as well find a place to sit. He’s not likely to wake up in the next five minutes.”

Ace figured this was true, as far as things went. The room came equipped with a desk, so he pulled out the chair and took a seat, kicking his feet up on the writing surface. This earned him a disapproving look from Russel, but, given that Russel was already disapproving of him for much greater things, Ace ignored it.

They sat in awkward silence, having little to talk about, and Ace debated asking if Russel was up for a hand of cards when Noodle stirred with a sleepy sigh, turning and stretching and sitting up to blink at them.

“Gang’s all here,” she murmured. She looked down at 2-D, laid out beside her, picked up his hand, and rolled his fingers between her own. “Almost.”

“Feeling better?” Russel said.

Noodle shook her head.

“We’ll have to go back soon,” she said, her voice dry and gummy. She cast about the bedside table and took a drink from the glass of water sitting there. “We need to listen to the final cut of the album and give the go-ahead. Also we just… can’t stay here forever. What are we going to do if he’s still unconscious?”

“We might have to turn him over to the pros after all,” Russel replied, ignoring the disapproving look Noodle cast his way. “They’ll be able to transfer him to a hospital back home with all the proper equipment in place.”

“They won’t be happy to stop at that,” Noodle said. “Mainly because he doesn’t _need_ equipment. I don’t know how, but he’s in near-perfect stasis. If anyone finds that out, they’ll be all over him.”

“I might be able to find someone,” Ace chimed in. He knew he was taking a chance, but the fact remained that, if unusual services were wanted, he was the guy who knew the guy who could provide them.

“Yeah, that went well the last time,” Russel snorted, and then seemed to reconsider when Noodle cast him a dirty look. “Although I suppose it’s worth considering. What did you have in mind?”

“Don’t know yet,” Ace told him. “I haven’t talked to anyone. But if I were to start with someone, it’d probably be Billy.”

“It would, would it?” Russel said, eying him sceptically, “’Cause I’ve met Billy…”

“Yeah, he looks like a total gronk, but we all have our specialties,” Ace said. “He can’t do math for shit, but he could probably paint you a picture of every road in the continental U.S. of A. from memory. He and his partners run a transportation business now. One does PR, one does accounting, and Billy takes care of logistics. Can move just about anything or anyone to just about anywhere at any time. Legit business, mind, but we’re not smuggling cargo, we’re just travelling as a band.”

“With one member in a state of suspended animation,” Russel pointed out.

“I am not aware of a law disallowing travel in a state of suspended animation,” Ace replied. “Might mean some paperwork and additional accommodations, that’s all. And if it’s overseas you want, Billy’s the guy that knows the guys who take care of things on the other side.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask who else you know,” Noodle said, her expression belying her statement.

“Well, I covered Arturo with you,” Ace said, “and you know Snake does tattoos. Fucking great ones too, so he knows the kind of guys who get tattoos, especially fucking great ones, if you get me. Grubber does voice acting now. Lots of background stuff. Can probably get Welker if you ever want your cat voiced in a video. Other than that and impersonating officials over the phone, he’s not into much.”

“Handy,” Noodle said.

“You have no idea,” Ace told her. “I don’t even know how he knows what some of these people sound like and I’m pretty sure everything he does is illegal, but I can’t prove it and neither can anyone else, so it’s out of my hands. If you ever need… I dunno… someone pardoned or released from prison or whatnot—“

“No,” Russel said.

“Not _yet_ ,” Noodle clarified.

“—he can probably get the ball rolling. You know, _if_ ,” Ace stressed.

He contemplated the gathering before him. Although 2-D was still breathing – technically – they looked like a funeral party. Ace supposed he could not blame them. 2-D gave no indication of snapping out of stasis and even he was starting to doubt Arturo’s intentions. He felt bad about the whole thing. He had really and truly intended to do right by the band and the thought that he might have fucked up so spectacularly ate at him. It was not just the fear of being pounded directly into the ground by Russel or having Noodle break every bone in his body – two possibilities of which he was intimately aware – or even the bad publicity that would come of having accidentally killed a bandmate. He had genuinely started to like 2-D, felt bad for him and the things he had endured with Murdoc, and wanted to help.

The thought depressed him.

“I need a drink,” Ace told the room at large. “You guys want anything?”

“I’ll second that drink,” Russel said.

“I’ll third,” Noodle added.

“I… uh…”

Noodle gasped and jerked her hand away as 2-D struggled to sit up, fumbled clumsily at his throat, and choked. Russel swore, grabbed the rubbish bin, and hauled 2-D up into a sitting position, bending him over it just in time for him to cough and vomit up a stew of rank-smelling liquid. He did so twice in a row as though his body were anxious to expel anything that might have been left sitting inside him over the past several days.

It occurred to Ace that this could be true, and that 2-D’s body being in a state of suspension did not mean anything he had eaten prior to that moment had joined it in stasis. Even if he had metabolized some of it on a minute scale, the rest would have curdled by now and might pose a legitimate danger. Russel seemed to have the same idea as he ordered everyone to stand aside, shoved the bin into Ace’s hands, and hauled 2-D, now groaning and clutching his abdomen, clear out of bed and into the en suite, slamming the door behind him.

“What the Hell?” Noodle whispered, creeping up to the door from which whimpers, moans, and sounds of violent illness escaped.

“I’m putting my money on a massive purge,” Ace said, putting the bin aside with distaste. “Food and uh… waste are not _technically_ part of the human body and I don’t imagine it likes having any of that sit there for extended periods of time.”

“Oh. Oh…” Noodle said, her expression contorted into a war of pity and disgust.

“Yeah, remind me to tell Arturo that shit should only be taken on an empty stomach.”

The sounds of distress continued for a little while, escalating into mildly panicked babble, and the sound of the shower. In the end, Russel emerged, all but carrying 2-D, shaky, pale, and soaking wet. He held up a hand to fend Noodle off until 2-D was safely sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Toochi… Hi,” Noodle said almost shyly as Russel dropped a blanket around the singer’s shoulders. She crouched in front of him so they might see each other plainly. “How are you feeling?”

“Dunno,” 2-D murmured, his throat raw. “Was sick. Not so much now. Stiff an’ sore.”

“I imagine,” she said. “Did Russel give you some medicine?”

2-D nodded. “I’s not workin’ yet.”

“No, but it will soon,” Noodle assured him, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I’m so happy you’re awake…”

Ace took that as his cue to leave, bringing the used bin with him. As disgusting as the task might be, he felt that emptying it was the least he could do to make up for the disruption.


	13. Epilogue

It was several weeks before Russel was satisfied that whatever had inhabited 2-D was well and truly gone. They did not wait around for his assessment, but returned home, turning further work on the album into a grand experiment wherein discussion sessions about the final cut of the album, band interactions, and offerings of sweet foods were all used to gauge 2-D’s mental stability. It was enough to drive anyone mad, and 2-D lost his temper on more than one occasion, hiding away in an angry sulk until Ace could pry him out to smoke a joint around back or convince him to go out for ice cream.

Russel might be picky and insist on testing 2-D’s self-management at nearly every opportunity, but Ace was satisfied within the first few days. For once, he thought, being less familiar with the subject made him a greater expert. He saw clearly the difference between obstinance or impatience and the dead-eyed threat of retaliation he had faced when he first arrived. He even ventured to call 2-D ‘D’ or some variation thereof, intermingled with ‘boss’.

Ace supposed he could have dropped the latter entirely, but it was habit now. It had grown on him and, well… 2-D deserved it.

It also helped that being the one with the balls to try something experimental had earned Ace a certain amount of esteem in 2-D’s eyes. Sometimes the ear of the man in charge was as good as being in charge one’s self.

“Ace! How you doin’ man?”

“Hey, Francisco,” Ace said, grinning. “Why’re you picking up this line?”

“I recognized your number. You get your boss’ yet?”

“You got a one-track mind,” Ace told him flatly. “He just woke up. Give him a chance to get into the swing of things.”

“Shit. Was he the possessed dude?” Frank fell quiet a moment as though reconsidering. “Did his head spin around?”

“No, Frank. I don’t know what kind of freaky fantasy drove you to ask that question and I hope to never find out.”

“You’re a frustrating man,” Frank told him. “You’re playing with me now.” He paused. “Art just walked in. Gimme a sec.”

Ace waited as Frank pulled the phone away from his ear and hollered to Arturo that Ace was on the line.

“Hey, Ace! What’s up, man?” Arturo said. Ace listened for the telltale echo of the speaker, but heard nothing. “Your exorcism problem fix itself or what?”

“It was a close one,” Ace admitted. “Any longer and it’d’ve been my neck.”

Arturo uttered a long, low whistle.

“Aw, man! Sorry, Ace. It’s a new thing, you know? Experimental. Even the maker wasn’t sure how long it’d take. Guy’s all right now, though?”

“Seems to be,” Ace admitted. “Enough to get the tickets you asked for and give you my personal thanks.”

“Sweet,” Arturo said, and then his voice dropped and he added slyly, “but I’m not the one you need to thank. It’s the source you wanna call.”

“I suppose the tickets are for them too?”

“Well… two of the tickets are for me and Frank,” Arturo admitted. “Finder’s fee, you know? Closest show you’re playing to Townsville.”

“And the source?”

“Same show.”

“Fine,” Ace told him. “Have you got their number?”

“I’ll do you one better, Ace. I’ll get ‘em on conference call. Gimme a sec.”

Arturo’s words were fairly innocuous, but his tone gave Ace chills. He waited in telephone limbo as Arturo set up the call and came back on the line, accompanied by the faint ringing of a third party phone. It cut off suddenly and was replaced by a male voice.

“Utonium’s Lab.”

Ace nearly dropped his phone and scrambled to catch it. Fucking Arturo, he thought as he heard Arturo laughing on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Professor,” Arturo said gleefully. “You remember that job I needed help with just recently?”

“Ah, the bio-energy suppressors!” Utonium said cheerfully, an echo creeping onto his end of the conversation. “That was quite the puzzle. I trust your musician friend is feeling much better?”

“Great!” Arturo told him. “Although it’s not my friend, you understand. I was just the go-between. The man you gotta ask is my client.”

“Well, given your client, I thought you would have been updated by now,” Ace heard Utonium say as he willed his hand not to shake. In the background, far beyond the conversation between Arturo and the professor, he thought he heard whispered giggles.

“You’re not wrong, Professor,” Arturo said. “Speaking of which, my _client_ has just rung up to offer you that personal word of thanks I promised.”

“Uh… yeah,” Ace agreed, swearing to spam Arturo with every curse he could think of as soon as his brain could be de-jellied. “So, uh… Professor Utonium. I did not realize that you were the one to get the suppressors together for me.”

“It was a tricky problem, I’ll give you that,” Utonium replied. “But definitely worthwhile. I love a good challenge and if it’s to help someone in need, I’m glad to lend a hand. I thought it must be important if one of your old gang was willing to approach me. I told him not to share my name until we were sure they would work. The girls thought you might not trust them if you knew where they came from.”

Ace shuddered. He might have been leery at that. But then, when could Utonium and his “girls” _not_ be trusted to save the day?

“Well… sir,” Ace said. “I would like to extend my most grateful thanks for your assistance. You might very well have saved a life.” He refrained from adding that the life might have been his.

“Always happy to help. I hope you have my tickets,” Utonium said. “The girls have loved the band for ages. They were always impressed that there was a guitarist around their age performing professionally. And so excited to hear that you would be touring with them!”

This time, Ace was absolutely certain he heard a stifled snort and giggle in the background.

“I’m not as familiar with the music myself,” Utonium continued, “but I promised the girls I would go along. We’re all looking forward to seeing you on stage.”

“And backstage!” called a voice in the background before it was suppressed with a shush.

“Well, I’m sure you’re very busy,” Utonium said, a sly edge creeping into his voice. “Practising and recording and… whatever else it is that famous rockstars do. I will let you get back to it, but we will be seeing you on tour. Say goodbye to Ace, girls!”

A cacophony of womanly voices filled the line: bright, bustling, and bold.

“‘Bye, Ace!”

“”Bye!”

“Nice talkin’ with ya!”

“Be nice!”

“Be good!”

“Be _ready_ ,” came the final instruction. “We’ll be seeing you soon…”

And then they were gone, leaving only Arturo, who cackled madly.

“Man, you should’a heard yourself, Ace. That was great! I wish I had a picture.”

“I’m gonna kill you, Arturo.”

“Come on, man. You gotta admit, that’s a pretty cheap price for what you got.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ace said, and supposed it was. “I’m still gonna kill you.”

“Well, wait until after the show. I promised Frank a close-up look at your singer.”

“I’ll wait until after the backstage wine and cheese, how’s that?” Ace told him.

“Sweet,” Arturo said. “I’ll hold you to that. In the meantime, I gotta let you go. I got another call while I was enjoying your humiliation. Frank says ‘bye, by the way.”

“‘Bye, Frank!” Ace shouted when dead air indicated Arturo was holding the phone away from his ear. Then he ended the call.

He stared as his phone for several seconds before pocketing it.

_Be ready…_

Well, he supposed, it could have been worse.


End file.
